The Chase
by Fletset
Summary: In Cartman's dreams, Kyle is his toy. In reality, Stan will do everything in his power to prevent that from happening. A Dark Slash.
1. You're it!

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine, I'm writing this story just for fun and am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **There it is. A way too ambitious project… I don't know why I'm starting yet_ another_ chaptered fic… 

Hopefully, it will be updated. As for the wait between chapters… I can't promise anything. 

**Author's Note II:** This is supposed to be a rather dark story, though we'll see how it'll turn out. I'm not a fan of Cartman/Kyle, but if at all, then this is how I think it will go. Come on, Tonsil Trouble called for a CK fic… 

**Author's Note III: **Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, and for incorrect usage of words and phrases. English is not my native tongue.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter One: You're it!

_The snow fell, whirling in the bone-freezing wind and falling softly yet not so gracefully on the men, women and children walking down the snow-filled path, accompanied by soldiers and a few trucks. Each soldier held a gun close to his chest, and they were yelling, sometimes hitting those who fell – especially the elders – for not being able to keep up with the pace. _

_After about an hour of marching nonstop, he, the commander, stopped, looked around, and a wicked smile spread across his lips. He kicked the soil, nodded to himself, and signaled them all to stop walking. "Get the shovels!" he yelled, and about thirty soldiers hurried to the trucks and took out the wanted tools, giving them to a few of the men - and sometimes women - in the group. _

_There were about six hundred people there, watching silently as the men and women dug a large pit in the numbing cold, every few minutes commanded to do so faster. _

_"That's enough!" he yelled as soon as he was pleased with the depth and width of the pit. The diggers climbed out, panting and exhausted. "Get undressed! Schnell!" he yelled, kicking random people as he walked among the unofficial prisoners. Someone was translating his orders._

_A short moment later the oppressed found themselves standing at the edge of the pit, naked, freezing, and scared. Young women held their crying children's hands, fighting their own tears, and the men stood next to them, either silent or mumbling prayers while the soldiers got drunk, readying themselves for the murderous act they were about to do. _

_A soldier was walking with him as he surveyed the line of people, a smirk on his face. Somewhere around the middle of the line, stood a young man with red, curly hair, glaring at the killers. "How dare you look at us like that!" the soldier that accompanied him roared and aimed his gun at the crude man. The man did not answer. "I'm going to kill you!" the soldier yelled, and was about to do so, when he, his commander, put a calming hand on his uniformed shoulder. The soldier looked at him with wonder. He pushed him aside and watched the redhead man with interest. "What's your name?" he asked._

_"Kyle," the man replied. "And I hate you, you dirty bastards!" he spoke with fluent German, causing the soldier to get angry again._

_The soldier spat at him and readied his gun once again. "How dare a Polish Jew like yourself use the language of the supreme race!" he yelled into the redhead's face. _

_"Come on, kill me! Better get it over with as soon as possible!" Kyle yelled back, not making a move to wipe off the spit from his face._

_He, the commander, chuckled. "You're interesting," he said, gently pushing the soldier aside. "Where did you learn German?"_

_Kyle was still glaring. "I was interested, God knows why…"_

_He thought for a moment, and the wicked smile returned to his lips. "Step out of the line and get dressed." Kyle did not budge. He, the commander, glared and in a quick movement seized Kyle's, who did not make a sound of protest, shoulders. "I'm giving you a chance to live a bit longer, you Jewish dog. Take it or die." He said and continued his surveying. _

_When he got to the end of the line he turned around and looked at the two hundred or so standing people, huddled together to keep warm. They will have to do it three more times to get it over with. Such a bother…_

_He walked back to his soldiers and wasted no time in giving them the order to shoot. It was over in seconds, and about twenty minutes later, the group of about six hundred Jews was eliminated. _

_He, the commander, walked away, chuckling to himself. He halted suddenly and looked to the side, his smirk widening. "I see you chose the temporary life," he said to the redhead man, dressed in whatever clothes he picked from the ground. Kyle's eyes were wide and his mouth gaped. He didn't seem to acknowledge the fact he was spoken to. _

_"Come with me," he said and kept on walking, the wind around them carrying the last screams of life, which were emitted as bullets pierced skin, causing all those men and women to fall to their doom._

Eric Cartman woke up with a throbbing erection. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, cursing the sun as its rays penetrated through the closed blinds on his window and illuminated his room in a dim light. He yawned lazily and scratched his crotch, grunting as it demanded for more of his attention. He sat up on his bed and yawned again, blinking a few times in order to focus his blurred vision. He rose slowly from his bed and stretched, scratching his nape as he did so. He wobbled to the bathroom, his erection annoyingly preventing him from walking as he should. He stepped into the bath and pulled down his pajama pants, still not fully awake. Lazily, he started rubbing up and down, up and down, panting and slowly coming to his senses as the organ twitched in his hand, grunting loudly as it sprayed a white substance on the ceramic. 

Cartman smiled, pleased, turned on the faucet and washed the mess he'd made. For the past few months, it became a sort of a ritual for him; he'd wake up from yet another Holocaust-Kyle dream with a tent in his pants, go to the bathroom and do whatever his body demanded of him, and then his day would continue as usual. 

Oh, how he loved having those dreams… sometimes it was in a concentration camp, sometimes in a gas chamber, sometimes in a crematorium… Kyle would always look at him angrily, and he himself would always be dressed in his Nazi uniform, smiling wickedly at his victim and offering him chances to live.

"Good morning, poopsikens," his mother greeted him as he walked into the kitchen, a goofy smile adorning his face. 

"Morning, mom," he greeted back as he plopped down on one of the chairs, his eyes narrowing at the bowl that was set in front of him. "Ma!" he yelled, hitting the table surface with a punch. "How many times do I have to tell you! I don't _like_ Cheerios!"

Liane Cartman put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry sweetie! I'll go and get you something else…" She took the bowl and spilled its contents in the trash, rummaging through the cupboards afterwards and pulling out a different box of cereal.

Cartman crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, glancing momentarily at the clock on the wall, his eyes widening considerably as he did so. "Ma!" he yelled again. "The bus will be at the station in five minutes! Now I don't have enough time to eat!" He sat up violently, causing the chair to fall backwards with a loud noise. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Eric!" She glanced around worriedly until her eyes landed on a bag of Nachos. "Here," she said as she gave it to him. "Why don't you eat this on the way? I promise I'll make you something delicious when you get back!" 

Cartman eyed the bag suspiciously, grabbed it, hoisted his schoolbag up his shoulder and stormed out of the house, not bothering to wave or say a few words of goodbye to his mother. 

He ran towards the bus-station, his breath catching up in his throat as soon as he passed about ten feet in his run. He made it just at the nick of time, nearly jumping on the bus stairs. The driver eyed him wearily and closed the door, resuming the drive towards the regional high school. 

Cartman stood at the end of the isle, eyeing the benches and searching them for a vacant seat. His stomach knotted as he noticed Kyle Broflovski seated comfortably next to Stan Marsh, laughing at something he said and punching him lightly on the shoulder. The receiving side blushed lightly and turned his head away. Sometimes Cartman wondered if the Jewish dog even noticed those blushes of his best friend.

"H-heya, Eric!" Cartman looked down and frowned as he noticed Butters patting the seat next to his. "You can sit here with me!" he said. 

Cartman glanced up again, searching for a better spot. He was hoping to sit next to Kenny, but the poor blond already seated himself next to that slut Bebe, flirting endlessly with her. Sometimes Cartman wondered if he acknowledged her annoyed looks…

He sighed heavily and plopped down next to Butters, setting his schoolbag on his knees and hugging it tightly. "So how're you doin', Eric?" Butters asked, cheeks blushing slightly with embarrassment.

Cartman grunted. "Fine," he replied simply, shifting in his seat, intending on using the next turn in order to squash Butters with all of his weight. He smiled wickedly at the thought.

"I ate some scrambled eggs for last night's dinner," Butters started, causing the fat boy next to him to roll his eyes with annoyance. "And my dad said…" he tuned out the rest of Butters' boring monologue, focusing his thoughts on his object of desire instead. 

Kyle Broflovski. That curly, red haired, freckled Jew rat, with his awkward smile and foolish morals. There was no way to describe his yearning for that boy, that burning feeling that caused his eyes to narrow at the sight of him and his dreams to be filled with images of him, clad with striped, dirty uniform, a yellow Star of David on his chest and his eyes glaring and unrelenting. Cartman could feel his cock twitching at the mere mental image and grunted again. 

Cartman was the first to leave the bus upon its arrival to the school building. He wrinkled his nose and sneezed as the temperature changed. Behind him, his Jewish classmate sneezed, as well. "Are you cold?" that bitch Stan asked his best friend, causing Cartman to frown. He could just see him, too, caressing his back gently in his worries for the redhead's well-being. And that stupid Jew would probably gladly accept the gesture. 

"A bit, yeah," Kyle replied and sniffled. "Ah, Kenny! Kenny, I have something to ask you!" he said as he probably noticed the other boy. 

"It was nice talking to ya, Eric," Butters said as he passed him by. "I'll see you in class!" He walked on ahead, and Cartman was left to himself again. He relished at the notion. He began walking towards the school building, ignoring the numerous conversations around him as he held his head high, stuffing Nachos into his mouth. 

"Morning, fatass," the pat on his shoulder came to him as a surprise and he halted, staring wide-eyed at one nonchalant Jewish young man, walking happily with that piece of shit Kenny by his side, chatting with him about whatever it is that those two fags chatted about. Cartman touched his shoulder, wrapping his chubby fingers around it as much as he could and narrowed his eyes. He could feel it burning with heat beneath his touch and his breathing quickened. He glanced down and cursed, wondering where he could disappear to in order to hide his current embarrassment. As he glanced around worriedly, his brown eyes fell on the blue ones of Stan Marsh, the biggest pussy of all. Stan stared at him suspiciously, as he always had for the past few weeks, lips pursed and one eyebrow quirked as he engrossed himself in deep thought. Cartman was getting sick of it. "What are you staring at, you asshole?" he asked and held the bag of Nachos in front of his pelvis, trying to make it look like he was not trying to hide anything.

"Nothing," Stan replied, but did not remove his gaze. Cartman was about to threaten him, but at that moment Stan shook his head and ran to catch up with their other two friends.

* * *

Eric Cartman used to loathe P.E. For the past few months, though, he found he rather enjoyed it. The teachers never made anyone run; as long as they walked, at least, it didn't matter. So Cartman walked slowly around the court, snickering at his panting classmates as they ran their laps, sometimes commenting on their poor (as he viewed it) skills. Among them was Kyle.

His tall figure glistened with sweat as he ran, his face was crimson with effort and his wet clothes stuck to his body and showed off his muscles. Cartman immensely enjoyed the sight as he followed him with his brown eyes. Though, he had to admit, he could do _something_ in order to make it better…

He kept on walking slowly, and as Kyle ran past him for the third time he quickly stretched his left leg forward and watched with amusement as Kyle tripped on it and fell. He snickered, watching proudly at the sprawled, heavily-breathing, Jew rat.

"Kyle!" of course, that stupid Stan had to see it and run towards them quickly, faster than he ever ran during those long ass P.E periods. "Kyle, dude, are you okay?" he asked, bending over and stretching out his hand.

Kyle looked up, blinked, and then smiled. "Thanks," he said, lifting up one dirty hand to take a hold of Stan's. Cartman growled. 

"How did you fall?" Stan asked, helping Kyle dust off the white shirt that clung so wonderfully to his body. Cartman would have loved to help him, as well; to touch his shirt and pinch his skin, to watch him squirm at the pain. 

"I tripped," Kyle spat, turning his head to glare at Cartman.

Cartman merely smiled in return. "What?" he asked. "It's not my fault you Jews have no sense of coordination."

"Stupid asshole," Kyle muttered. "Did it hurt so much to see all the thin people run as they should, so you had to fail me?"

_Oh, quite the contrary, Kyle my dear…_ "You're horribly mistaken if you think that I care about any of that," Cartman replied and turned around, resuming his slow walk around the court, whistling as he went.

"Come one, Kyle. Let's leave the stupid fatass alone," he heard Stan say, yet he could still feel those ice blue eyes of his burning a hole into his back. He frowned. One day he'll surely kill that good for nothing son of a bitch…

He liked History better than P.E. Cartman knew better than to daydream during class as he sat in his seat, the book closed in front of him. He wasn't worried about missing any important material, rather he knew that once he'd start daydreaming, his body would respond. That he preferred to avoid. 

But, as luck would have it, the subject of that day was the Nazis' concentration camps. Their teacher droned on and on, in tiring elaboration, about the methods of killings and methods of hiding. Cartman saw all the pictures on the internet, saw nearly every documentary on the planet; the teacher had nothing new to tell him. If at all, he would rather she'd add an insight, perhaps say what an ingenious plan this was, executed almost to perfection. Ah, yes, all the little Jews squirming and screaming as the gas choked them to death, turning blue…

He shuddered as the thought of Kyle's blue face crept into his mind, smiling as a warm feeling washed over him as blood rushed to his nether regions. 

_Fuck._

He glanced around slowly, convincing himself that nobody looks his way, that all of them are too engrossed in the class… yet that faggot Stan, who just _had_ to be seated next to him, looked his way, his eyes wide as saucers, as if all the pieces of the puzzle he made for himself finally fell into place. "Something's wrong, bitch?" Cartman hissed.

"You…" Stan mouthed, unbelieving. Cartman narrowed his eyes at him and turned his head away. He was forced to look back, however, once the sound of metal colliding with floor reached his ears. 

"Mr. Marsh!" The teacher screeched, closing her book in annoyance. "Is something the matter?"

Stan, woken violently out of his reverie, shook his had fiercely. "N…no ma'am," he stuttered. A few students giggled. In the corner of his eye, Cartman saw Kyle look up at his friend worriedly.

"Then sit down," she said. "Now, who can tell me what is the difference between a death camp and a concentration camp?"

Cartman would have raised his hand, said that in a concentration camp those dogs died gloriously of hunger, but then figured everyone would look his way, and opted against the idea. 

His body demanded for attention, his fingertips tingled and he shuddered involuntarily every few seconds. Luckily for him, the class ended soon after Stan's outburst.

Quite conveniently, that classroom was the closest one to the bathroom. Cartman was the first to leave the classroom as it ended and hurried into a stall, pulled down his pants and grunted with pleasure as he answered the calls of his body, morbid images filling his mind. As he stepped out, smiling to himself, he noticed Stan leaning against the sinks, glaring, as if he's been waiting there ever since Cartman entered the stall. 

"You sick fucker," Stan hissed.

"If you want something, you can ask nicely," Cartman replied.

Stan blew angrily and seized Cartman by the collar of his shirt, yet was unable to lift him due to his weight. He glared at the fat boy. "You'll never have him," he said, spraying his saliva all over Cartman's face.

Cartman gripped the hand that held him violently and took it off, glaring back. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. 

Stan pursed his lips in anger. "Don't give me that shit, fatass. I've seen how you look at him."

That caused a smile to creep to Cartman's lips. "I take it that you're watching him, as well, then?" he asked. 

Stan's angry blush turned into an embarrassed one. "Give me a break," he said.

Cartman snickered. "Come on, Stan. I've known for the past year. No need to deny." He might as well stop denying, too. "Though," he continued, "that only means he'll eventually be mine."

That caused the anger to return to Stan's face. He was about to grab Cartman again, but decided against it. "Kyle will _never_ be yours," he said. "He hates your guts!"

"As I, supposedly, hate his?" Cartman asked, looking up at Stan innocently. Stan huffed. "I can assure you I'll get to him before you do," he added. "I get everything that I want."

Stan looked like a mad bull as his brows furrowed and his lips pursed tightly. "You've gone mad, if you actually believe that," he said. "You're on."

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note IV: **The dream was supposed to be a part from a fic, where I tried to throw all of them into Nazi Germany. But, seeing as it's way too complicated, I decided to use it here. Hope you enjoyed your reading, and please, leave a review!


	2. A Bait

**Disclaimer: **South Park belongs to Matt and Trey. I'm writing this story just for fun and am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **Thanks for all the reviews! Feel free to review more :)

**Author's Note II: **Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, or incorrect usage of words and phrases. English is not my native tongue.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Two: A Bait

_He was lying on his back on one of the many hills surrounding South Park, his eyes closed as he relished on the feeling of the slight wind in his hair and the lush grass between his fingers on that rare summer day. He was on the border between dreams and reality, the sounds of nature around him soothing his senses. He was alone out there, as he always was, escaping from the madness that he always seemed to be trapped in. He took deep intakes of air and let them out slowly, meditating almost, and as he was about to fall into a deep sleep he heard the grass parting slowly behind him. He opened his eyes slowly as the sound grew near, and with a groan he lifted himself on his elbows, turning his head in order to see the source of the unwanted disturbance. _

_His breath caught up in his throat as he saw a redhead male approaching him, and his heart started beating madly at the sight of the tall, handsome figure. The redhead was smiling at him, flashing him a perfect row of teeth in the color that surrounded their hometown during so many days of the year. His curls danced slowly in the breeze, the freckles on his face joining the lips in a smile that he found it impossible to tear his eyes from. _

_"Hey dude," the Jewish boy greeted him as he plopped down next to him on the grass, taking a deep breath, his lungs absorbing the fresh mountain air._

_"H-hey…" he greeted back, grinning like an idiot. Had it been anyone else, he would have been mad, but seeing that it was Kyle, who decided to join him in his relaxation on the hill, he gladly accepted his presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked him._

_"Do I really need a reason?" Kyle replied, his green eyes shining and playful. A shudder ran down the hill's earlier occupant's spine as he found himself drowning in that lovely sea of green, words he should say remaining on his tongue as his eyes stared, unblinking. He shook his head slowly. "No," he replied._

_"And what are you doing here?" Kyle asked him, and as he blinked the former occupant awoke from his momentary trance. _

_"I don't need a reason, either," he answered with a smile that could never match the one of the boy's next to him._

_Kyle nodded. "Then we're both here for kicks," he said, and the former occupant chuckled at his comment. _

_"I'm… I'm glad that you came here, though," he said, his face heating up as embarrassment washed over him. Kyle watched him in puzzlement. "You always make me happy, just by being there with me…" _

_Kyle's smile widened as he, too, blushed slightly. "Feeling's mutual, dude. After all, I wouldn't have come and found you if you didn't make me happy, as well," he said._

_"You knew I was here?" he asked his Jewish friend, eyes widening slightly. _

_"I know everything about you," Kyle whispered huskily, inching closer. "Every expression, ever curve, every mood…" he was so close that the former occupant of the hill could feel his hot breath on his face. "I'd say I know you better than you know the back of your hand," he concluded, his eyes half shut._

_The former occupant's breathing quickened, earlier attempt of meditation and relaxation forgotten. His blush deepened as he felt Kyle's hand stroking his cheek and his stomach knotted. "W-what are you doing?" he managed to stutter, excitement dulling his senses and common sense. _

_"What I came here to do," Kyle replied, inching so close that the former occupant could nearly feel his face. "What I should have done for months now."_

_And then Kyle kissed him._

Stan's eyes fluttered open and he blinked his drowsiness away. Specks of dust were floating around in his room, dancing in the morning's sunrays, and for awhile he merely laid there, blinking slowly and watching the spectacle, uninterested in the time. Images from his dream still lingered in his mind and as his eyes burned from crushed hopes and frustration, he touched his lips, absorbing the feeling and trying to engrave in his mind the memory which existed only in his subconscious.

After taking a few deep breaths he sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes tiredly, glancing at the clock and frowning as he realized he still had full fifteen minutes of sleep. He opted against lying back down, though, got up from his bed and put on the pair of jeans he wore for nearly the entire past week. The shirt, he decided, could wait.

He shuddered as he stepped out of his room, rubbing his arms briefly. He entered the bathroom and begun his regular morning ritual, which included riddance of unnecessary body fluids and refreshment. After splashing his face with lukewarm water he leaned on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Ruffled black hair, tired blue eyes, a pimple on his chin he might as well get rid of… everything seemed to be in place. He ran a hand through his raven hair, trying to flatten it, and as his attempts failed he reached for a comb for help.

As the plastic sunk into his hair, Stan found himself lost in thoughts of his best friend; those magnificent red curls of his, the spellbinding freckles, the blazing green eyes, the lean frame… those pink, succulent lips, which always kissed him so passionately in his dreams. Oh, how he wanted them to kiss his in reality…

But Stan was aware of the sad fact that perhaps, it was too much to ask for. He had no idea if Kyle shared even remotely similar feelings to his, he never showed any interest in being something beyond best friends. Of course, that could be attributed to fear, but Stan doubted that. If Kyle had something to say, he would have said it. Kyle would never hide anything from him. Stan figured that even if he did, he would have been able to catch him sneaking peeks at him, could have recognize the powerful craving in Kyle's eyes whenever they would lock with his, would have noticed the slight blushes or awkward smiles…

Stan sighed heavily. And now he just _had_ to "bet" with Cartman that he would get to Kyle first. In all honesty, he had no idea as to how he would be able to achieve that. Cartman, he knew, would eventually get his way through the manipulations and dirty schemes he always pulled, and his poor, naïve Kyle would buy it all. In the mirror in front of him, his reflection's left eyebrow twitched as the thought of his best friend and the town's most hated boy together crept into his mind without permission. The thought of them kissing caused his stomach to turn into knots and bile to rise up his throat. He swallowed thickly and opened the faucet, drinking hungrily the water that flowed from it, paying no heed to the weird taste they left in his mouth.

He lifted his head up again, and in the mirror in front of him his reflection frowned at his suddenly disheveled appearance. He huffed and took out his toothbrush from the ceramic mug on the sink, applying the mint toothpaste and quickly getting rid of the task of cleaning the bones tat stuck out of his gums. He stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see his mother, still in her pajamas, exiting her and his father's room.

"Oh, good morning, Stanley," she greeted him, looking rather surprised to see he's woke up before she did. "Did you sleep well?" she asked with a slight frown that deepened the wrinkles, which were already present on he forehead.

He nodded. "Yeah. I just woke up naturally, I guess," he replied with a shrug.

His mother nodded, though she still seemed somewhat troubled. "Put a shirt on," she said as she resumed her walk to a destination unknown to him, although he gueseds it was probably the kitchen. "We don't want to catch a cold now, do we?"

"No," he grumbled, annoyed at the fact that even when he was nearly eighteen, his mother still treated him like a little kid, sometimes. He followed her advice – or rather, command – and put his blue sweater on, noting that it matched his eyes and wondering if Kyle ever noticed that…

As he went downstairs and entered the kitchen, he was surprised to find an omelet waiting for him on the table, his mother's back facing him as she chopped vegetables for the salad. "I could have made a toast for myself or something," he said, sitting at the table, waiting patiently for the rest of his breakfast.

His mother smiled kindly at him as she put down the bowl with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes on the table surface. "Don't worry, honey," she said. "I planned on making some kind of an egg for me, anyway."

Perhaps he should wake up early more often… "Have you talked with Shelly?" he inquired as he begun cutting the egg.

"Yeah, yesterday night. I think she got used to the dormitory. I was happy to hear that things look better for her," his mother answered, breaking a second egg into the pan.

Stan nodded, aware of the fact that his mother was not able to see the gesture. He smiled as he chewed on a bite, grateful for the peace and quiet that his sister's absence provided him with. No further conversation occurred after that, and Stan was able to nod towards his father as he saw him descending the staircase, before he went out of the house and towards the bus station.

Kyle was already waiting at the station when he arrived. "Hey, dude," the freckled youth greeted him as he noticed him crossing the road. Stan smiled back and waved, adjusting a white scarf around his neck. "What's up?" Kyle asked.

"All is well," Stan replied as he came to a stop in front of his best friend, smiling widely at him. "You?"

Kyle nodded slowly. "Same here. Though I wish the temperature would rise already, it's almost spring!"

Stan chuckled. "Yeah, this morning I saw a patch of earth near our garage. I almost forgot what it looked like without all this snow piled on top of it!"

Kyle laughed. "Yeah… and I'm getting sick of all those layers. Sometimes I wish I would have stayed in California!" he laughed harder as he said it, but Stan's laughter died down and he looked at his friend, wide-eyed.

"Do you? Seriously?" he asked.

Kyle looked at him oddly. "Of course not! Dude, I don't know what I would have done without you next to me!" He replied and patted Stan on the shoulder, averting his gaze immediately afterwards to greet Kenny, who approached them with a slow pace. Stan's heart was beating rapidly in his chest as he rubbed his shoulder slowly, engraving the gentle touch into his mind just like he engraved the imagined kiss only half an hour before. His fingertips tingled as his shoulder burned.

On the bus he sat next to Kyle in the back while Kenny chose to annoy Bebe yet again. Kyle was telling him something about his mother's latest crusade when Cartman climbed, or rather jumped, on the stairs to the yellow vehicle. Kyle's words and chuckles went unheard to his ears as he glared at the fat boy making his way along the narrow isle, searching for a vacant seat. When his brown eyes locked with Stan's blue ones, he smirked and sat down next to Clyde, who frowned at him, but said nothing, nonetheless.

Stan huffed.

"Stan? Stan!" the nudge from his best friend caused him to wake up from his daze, and he turned his head to look apologetically at the redhead next to him. "Is something wrong?" Kyle asked.

"No, no… I was just… remembering something," he replied. Kyle nodded slowly, not seeming to buy the words, but let go of the subject. He commented on something then and laughed, about his daze perhaps. Stan's attention, though, was drawn the back of the biggest jackass in the world as he more or less ignored Kyle for the remaining of the ride.

The first class he had that day was Algebra, in which he was with none of his friends. Kenny was in a lower group, while Kyle and Cartman took the advanced one. He stared at the board throughout the entire class, not registering the teacher's words nor the numbers written with chalk, spending his time wondering if Cartman did anything to piss off his best friend.

Or worse yet, if he had already begun manipulating him.

He nearly broke his pencil as the particular thought ran through his head and he had to restrain himself from gritting his teeth. The fucking fatass probably planned the entire thing already, and poor Kyle had no clue as to what was in store for him. Stan could not allow whatever it was to happen; he had to get to Kyle first! He did not doubt that if he will manage to think through a few things, he would be able to accomplish that goal. He had to make Kyle for fall him somehow, to touch him more often, to dazzle him with smiles, to make him laugh, to brighten his day just by _looking_ at him.

Just as whenever he caught Kyle's eyes looking his way, his heart leaped and he blushed like he was some stupid girl crushing on the prom king.

Kyle will surely fall for him, he decided. His orientation did not matter. He will fall for him, because he _had_ to. Because falling for the idiot, fat, manipulative, Nazi Eric Cartman was not an option.

_And then what?_ He wondered as the teacher scribbled some more equations on the blackboard. What will Eric Cartman do once he finds out he lost their little bet? He was never the one to accept a loss. Either he would force Kyle to be his, or he will… or he will…

_He will surely kill me…_

His pencil broke, drawing the attention of some of his fellow students, who merely chuckled and then returned to copying like robots. The bell rang, signaling the end of another boring period.

Suddenly, that bet didn't seem like a good idea at all…

The sitting order in English class was a weird one: Stan sat next to his best friend, of course, and then Cartman, who usually sat in the back row, opted to sit on the Jew's other side. Kyle nodded at him in recognition while Stan's relentless glare did nothing to deter Eric Cartman from his decision. "Why aren't you telling him to go away?" he whispered to Kyle once the teacher entered the classroom.

Kyle shrugged. "As long as he shuts his big mouth, he can sit wherever he wants."

Stan was about to argue some more, but then the teacher told them all to shut the hell up and listen. Stan sighed and leaned his head on his left arm, watching the old teacher as she went back and forth, reading chosen paragraphs from the short story they were all supposed to read.

"Hey Kyle!" the loud and annoying hiss from Eric Cartman a few minutes later caused Stan to lift his head from the notebook he managed to write a line or two on, and he watched with a frown at Cartman, who pointed at a pen on the floor, signaling for Kyle to lift it up.

Kyle, forever the nice one, obliged, and as he gave the blue pen back to its rightful owner, Stan watched with horror as Cartman touched his best friend's fingers, caressing them almost, as a smirk played on his lips while he leered at him. This action seemed to go unnoticed by Kyle, and Stan bit his bottom lip as his fists shook, trying with all of his might to be patient and not punch his desk right there and then. That fucking bastard… and Stan knew just the thing to do in order to make him pay for being himself.

* * *

"Hello, Mrs. Cartman," Stan said with a smile as Liane Cartman opened the front door to her house.

"Oh, hello Stanley!" she replied, genuinely happy to see him. "I'm sorry, but Eric's not here at the moment…"

Stan nodded. "Yeah, I know he's still in school. He took my chemistry notes the other day, and I need them back. Could I just go up to his room and take them?" he asked, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

The door opened fully as she gestured for him to enter into her living room. "Why, of course! Do you want something to drink?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll just grab what I have to and leave. Thanks!" she nodded towards him and he ran up the stairs, proud yet dreadful at the same time.

Clyde Frog, that stupid doll which Cartman still adored (after his mother fixed it for him after Kyle tore its head), was just where Stan expected to see it: on the upper shelf of his drawer, stuck neatly between his notebooks and the biography of Adolf Hitler. Out of curiosity, Stan opened the thick, black book and skimmed through a few of the pages, taking notice of the lines, which the fat addition to their group marked. Sometimes he doubted his sanity…

He shook his head in order to clear his mind; he had a mission he had to complete. He took the doll from the drawer and stuffed it into his bag, not lingering another moment in the forbidden realm. He nodded politely to Cartman's mother as he left and said his proper goodbyes, smiling to himself as he went down the street and towards his house. He felt elevated, somehow. Cartman will go mad when he'll find out that his precious puppet is gone… and Stan is the only one who will know where to look for it. He chuckled, ignoring the horrible shaking of his fists.

* * *

"_STAN!!_" the raven haired boy turned his head and watched with mild amusement and fear as Eric Cartman stomped his way, fire blazing in his brown eyes and his chubby fists clenched tightly at the sides of his body. "Where. Is. Clyde. Frog?" he asked, poking Stan in the chest with every word he pronounced. It hurt, somewhat.

"What are you talking about, fatass?" Stan asked, students eyeing them as they passed in the hall, whispering amongst themselves, probably wondering if a fight would ensue.

"You know very well what I'm talking about, you faggot!" Cartman screamed, his saliva spraying all over the place. Stan narrowed his eyes. "My mom told me you took your notes back! _I never had those fucking notes_!"

"Relax, fatass," Stan said as he pushed him away slightly, his heart rate quickening as he did so. "It's in a safe place."

"_Where?_"

Stan smirked. "I'll tell you when I win, Cartman. I'm the only one who knows where it is."

"Then spill it, bitch!" Cartman yelled and was about to punch him, but Stan was quick enough to avoid the blow.

"Only after our bet's over!" he said as he avoided another blow, knowing full well that he won't be able to keep it up for much longer. "You'll never find it even if you searched! I'm the only one who can tell you where it's hidden!" _You'll have to keep me alive…_

Cartman glared at him, probably catching on to his train of thought, growling at him like a mad dog, his lips pursed tightly and his nose scrunched like a bull's. "Fine!" he spat. "If that's how you want to play it!" then he turned around and left, figuring he'd just have to get rid of the stupid pussy at some later time.

"Um… Mrs. Brown?" the high school History teacher looked up from her notebook to see a timid Eric Cartman at the doorstep, looking down with his hands behind his back and his ankle twisting left and right in a show of hesitation.

"Yes?" she asked. "What is it, Eric?"

"Umm… remember the project you mentioned in the beginning of the year?" he asked and she nodded. "Well…" the hesitation was clear in his voice, and Mrs. Brown was glad to find that even a punk like Eric Cartman has his moments. She smiled. "I wanna be paired up with Kyle Broflovski." He finished.

Her eyebrow quirked and she gaped at him, shocked. "I thought you two don't get along so well…" she said.

He chuckled. "Well, you see, I ask for a reason…"

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note III: **Kenny fans, rest assured. I think he'll have a more central role in later chapters… again, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think!


	3. A Catch

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine; I'm writing this story just for fun and am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **I should be studying for my exams, but… meh. I still have time 'till my next one.

**Author's Note II: **if you've made it this far, you should know that English is not my native tongue, yadda yadda… though I took a course in Proficiency in English, so hopefully I got a bit better with phrases!

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Three: A Catch

_"Left."_

_"Right."_

_"Left." Who is to live…_

_"Right." And who is to die._

_He surveyed the inhuman creatures that stood before them, huddled so closely together they seemed like a single entity of filthy, unworthy Jews. The cattle train that carried them there was still standing behind them as the soldiers readied it for its next trip to the west and back. He relished on the look of pure fear that was etched on each of the thin faces, smiling wickedly as he eyed them wearily and pointed at every such person he passed, deciding his or her fate. Children wept as they were separated from their mothers, women screamed and sobbed pathetically as their husbands went to the other side, and only the elders stood there, shivering from the cold and looking at the soldiers fearfully, as if knowing what fate awaits them. _

_The soldiers told them they needn't worry; they are only going to get a shower. They stood there with their luggage and expensive jewelry and golden teeth, and this caused him to grit his teeth angrily and his stomach to knot. If he could, he would have sent all of them to the right. _

_He passed a redhead young man, and on the first glance he considered sending him to the right because of his thin and seemingly fragile frame, but something in his green eyes caught his attention and he decided that perhaps he could use this filthy Jewish rat for his own needs. "Left," he said eventually. Something died in the eyes of the young man and he nodded, walking to his spot as his mother called for him to return in the background. _

_He, their official grim reaper, frowned at her antics and signaled for one of his subordinates to silence her. She yelped as the butt of the rifle hit her and he smiled. "Right," he said as he pointed at her, relishing on the look of pure fear on the redhead's face, who screamed for her in the background. Foolish boy…_

_About two hours later the right group was eliminated. He requested that the redhead would be sent to his office, and indeed, as he returned in the evening, there stood the Jewish dog, clad in striped uniform and standing straight and still, face sealed and eyes displaying nothing but pure anger. _

_He, the official grim reaper, could feel his cock twitching at the delightful sight. "Hello," he said as he sat in front of the young man in his leather chair. "What is your name?" he asked._

_"Kyle," the man replied._

_He nodded. "Kyle. That's an interesting name," he said, crossing his arms on the thick wooden table and licking his lips in anticipation. "What would you say, Kyle, if I suggested I'd give you a loaf of bread right now?"_

_"Why would you do that?" Kyle asked quietly, cocking an eyebrow. Oh, how he loved that voice of uncertainty…_

_He chuckled. "Just… because. Of course, you need to do me favor in return." Kyle stared at him, blinking, awaiting. "I want you to…" he made a gesture with his hand, "undress."_

_Kyle's eyes widened. "What?" he breathed. Then his eyes narrowed angrily. "And if I refuse to?"_

_Oh, dear God, how he wanted release... "Undress, and you get food. You refuse and you get… death."_

_"I think I'd rather die!" Kyle said, his face red with anger._

_He, the grim reaper, chuckled. "Foolish Jew. Do you actually think I'll let you get away with it?" he asked, rising to his feet. He approached Kyle and held his neck, smirking at the choked sound the Jewish dog made. "I'm going to get what I want whether if by force or by your cooperation." Then he left him. _

_Kyle bit his lip. "And you're just going to look?"_

_He chuckled. "We'll have to see that, now, wouldn't we?" he asked and caressed his cheek slowly. _

_Kyle seemed torn, and he watched with immense interest as the redhead begun unbuttoning his shirt…_

The shrill sound of the alarm clock woke him up and Eric Cartman cursed loudly and punched his mattress weakly, as he was still awaking from his drowsy state. "God motherfucking DAMNIT," he said, gritting his teeth. His manhood was not completely hard yet, but he could still feel the veins twitching and demanding his attention. He threw the covers from above him and stomped to the bathroom, intending to get it over with as soon as possible. He hated it when his dreams remained unfinished, and they never repeated themselves, too. He expected to see Kyle in all of his naked glory, but school had other demands and he would have to settle on seeing him clad with his coat and that stupid ushanka on his head, hiding those red curls he so longed to touch and pull until the Jewish bastard would scream out in pain.

Up and down, up and down…

A quick glance at the clock in the hall told him had only ten minutes to get ready for school. "Ma!" he yelled, balling his fists.

"Yes Eric?" she called from downstairs, her voice sounding a tad weaker than usual.

"Why didn't you wake me up?!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie! I tried to, but you wouldn't wake up!" He cursed once again and went to his room, put on a pair of jeans and a black shirt, brushed his teeth in a hurry and stormed into the kitchen. "Would like something to eat, Eric? His mother asked him and he glared at her.

"No!" he yelled, "I don't have the time for it!" he opened one of the cupboards as she begged him for forgiveness in the background, took out a Snickers bar and added another three for the road.

Upon approaching the bus-stop, he was glad to see that the bus hadn't arrived yet, but frowned as he saw that son of a bitch Stanley Marsh laughing at something Kyle said and then proceeding to brush his shoulder as an ugly blush adorned his cheeks. _Oh, he is so going to get it…_

The ride to school was boring as usual: He sat next to Butters again, making sure to squash him at every turn and to spit on him as much as he could as he chewed on his chocolate bar. Butters, of course, did not see past his actions and kept on droning about his boring daily life. From a time to time Cartman glanced quickly at the seat Stan and Kyle shared, his brow furrowing as he noticed that sneaky Stan using every chance he had to somehow touch the Jewish rat, and said Jewish rat was still smiling at him with that paralyzing smile of his. Cartman knew that if he would dare touch the redhead casually like that, he would get suspicious. Stan was using that Gay-Super-Best-Friend privilege of his and he was using it so well it caused Cartrman's insides to burn with hatred, jealousy and anger. He spent the rest of the ride fuming to himself, planning a small-scale revenge on the raven haired motherfucking Stanley Marsh. He smirked to himself as he remembered that their first period of the day is history.

Kyle did not pat his shoulder that morning; merely nodded his way in acknowledgment, a small smile forming on his lips and causing Cartman's fingers to tingle with a strange sensation. Stan, who preferred he'd ignore him, immediately got his attention by touching him lightly on the arm and telling him something stupid from his even stupider life. Cartman huffed and kept on walking towards the high school doors, stuffing a second chocolate bar into his mouth. Some female students, who passed by him, giggled annoyingly as they looked his way, but he paid them no heed. Their opinions did not matter to him; nor did anyone else's, for that matter.

Once again, he opted to sit on Kyle's other side on their first period, much to Stan's delighting annoyance.

"Alright, class! Settle down!" Mrs. Brown said as she entered the classroom, clapping her hands in order to get the students' attention. Gradually, the laughs and talks quieted down until all of them sat quietly in their seats, looking at her tiredly. "Now," she started, "as you know, we'll be discussing and learning about World War Two and the Holocaust for the next few weeks. Since this is an important subject, in order to make sure that you're getting it into your thick heads," then she looked at some of the troublemakers in her class, who shrugged innocently and tried not to laugh in her face, "I will assign you in pairs. Every pair must write a paper about a subject I decide upon. You'll have it ready by the time we finish this subject, which is supposed to be… in about two months. I will let you know about the exact date." A collective groan resounded throughout the classroom while half of the students rolled their eyes. "Alright, quiet down! I know you probably have some more important things to do in your pathetic little lives," Cartman briefly wondered why there just couldn't be a normal teacher in South Park, "but this is high school, and you should get used to it. You'll have it much worse in college!" The students were still eyeing her, waiting for her to continue. "So," she clapped her hands again, "Let's begin. Craig and Wendy," both groaned, "your subject is Hitler's war tactics. Token and Clyde, you'll be writing about the Nazi policy between 1933 and 1939. Kyle, you're paired up with Eri-"

"What!" Stan and Kyle exclaimed simultaneously, standing up. "But Kyle and I are always together!" Stan tried to argue.

"Now sit down, the both of you!" Mrs. Brown said. "There is no rule stating that you have to be with Kyle all the time, Stanley."

"Yeah," Cartman sniggered. "Don't hog him all to yourself, faggot." Their classmates snickered at his comment.

"And you watch your tongue, Eric!" she warned. Stan and Kyle indeed sat down and Stan crossed his arms angrily over his chest. He glared at Cartman, and the latter assumed that the motherfucker already guessed he arranged to be paired up with Kyle beforehand. He smirked, but his smile disappeared as soon as he noticed Kyle patting his best friend's back reassuringly. "So, as I was saying," their teacher continued, "Kyle and Eric, you'll be doing your paper about the Nazi concentration camps. Stan, you and Kenny will write about the Nazi propaganda. Billy and Jimmy…"

Eric Cartman was very much pleased with himself. All he asked of their teacher was to assign him with Kyle because he "feels like he needs to improve in his studies and he's sure that Kyle would help him with this difficult task." He never mentioned which subject he would like to work on, but was glad to see she assigned them with the perfect one. He could already feel that A+ they were going to get… not that it mattered any, really. He didn't want Kyle next to him so he could work with him; he had other plans in mind.

"Mrs. Brown!" Cartman looked to his side just in time to see a Kyle Broflovski waving his arm enthusiastically. "Mrs. Brown, must I be paired up with Cartman? He'll use this subject just to make fun of me and my religion, and all he'll be willing to write about will be on how much the Nazis were just in their ways!" Next to him, Stan nodded decisively.

"Now Kyle, I'm sure Eric knows it's a serious subject. You needn't worry. If you'll feel discriminated against just let him know and I'm positive he'll try to be considerate."

"You obviously don't know him, Mrs. Brown! He tried to exterminate the Jews on a number of occasions!" Stan said, and various occupants of the classroom nodded their heads in agreement.

"Oh, shut up already!" Mrs. Brown cried. "I'm sure he was just playing around. Now quiet down and stop complaining, Stan and Kyle, or both of you will get an F!" the threat apparently worked, but both youths seemed not pleased at the least.

"You're such an asshole, Cartman," Kyle hissed his way as the teacher kept on assigning the students, causing a pleasant tingle to run down his spine.

* * *

P.E was boring as usual, with the laps and push-ups and glistening sweat and smell of. Cartman walked slowly around the court, thinking to himself as his classmates passed him by in their run, and he wondered briefly why none of them opted to walk instead. Stan was running about two feet behind Kyle, panting, his hair sticking out in various places and his shirt sticking grossly to his body. Cartman's eyes narrowed into slits as he looked the asshole's way and he felt that familiar sensation of anger bubbling up inside him. He just _had_ to go and hide the one thing most precious to him. He was not playing fair and Cartman didn't like it; he's the only one who's allowed to do so.

And so, as Stan passed him in his run, Cartman tripped him and Stan, who was not prepared the least, fell straight on his face. Everyone stopped in the midst of their run and laughed at him. Cartman chuckled maniacally to himself, his delight growing as he noticed a small trail of blood drizzling on the cement.

"Stan!" Kyle cried and rushed to his side, paled, and crouched down next to him. "Stan? Stan, are you alright?" he asked and shook him lightly, apparently panicking as he noticed his best friend was not rising again. Then he turned his head to glare at Cartman, who stood above them, and his eyes narrowed as moisture filled them. His hand was still on Stan's back, and Cartman told himself that the asshole was not getting up because he enjoyed the Jewish dog's hand on his backside too much. "Stop tripping people, you fat fuck! Are you getting off of it or something? Stan might be seriously hurt right now!" his voice cracked a bit.

_That is my goal, my dearest, dearest Kyle…_

The P.E teacher joined them and the students quieted down as they, too, noticed that something was wrong. "Is he alright, Kyle?" the teacher asked.

Kyle shook his head fearfully. "I don't know. Stan? Stan?" he bowed his head in order to look at the raven haired boy more closely.

"Ugh…" Stan moaned weakly and lifted his head up, supporting it with his arm, his eyes scrunched shut. "Goddamnit…" he muttered.

"Oh my God, Stan, you're bleeding…" Kyle said, stroking his friend's hair slowly as he eyed fearfully the blood that drizzled down his face, from his chin and nose.

Cartman watched them with an unreadable look. "You fucking asshole!" Stan screamed his way, wiping the blood and smearing it all over his face. Cartman had to fight the urge to chuckle.

"Kyle, take him to the nurse," the teacher said, glaring at Cartman. "Eric, this is the fourth time this month! Stan could have gotten seriously hurt! One more time and we'll be reporting it to your mother! See me after class in order to get your detention slip." Cartman huffed and glared as he watched Kyle help Stan to his feet slowly, supporting him as he eventually stood up straight and whispering something in his ear as his best friend tried unsuccessfully to hide the tears that mixed with his blood.

His plan had backfired. That asshole Stan probably knew this would be the outcome and thus hadn't tried to block the fall.

Well, at least very soon he'll have Kyle all to himself when they'll work on their paper...

* * *

Stan was torn between enjoying Kyle's tender touch on his shoulder and gritting his teeth at the sharp pain in his chin. He sniffled as they neared the Nurse Office, still trying, yet failing miserably, to wipe the blood that kept on flowing. Kyle knocked on the door urgently, yelling "hello?" in order for the nurse to hear him. He knocked harder when no response came, and when Stan tried to open the door he found it locked.

"Maybe she's out for lunch or something…" he suggested.

"Apparently… useless nurse," Kyle said, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Never here. Come on, let's go to the bathroom and try to stop that blood." He moved his hand from Stan's shoulder to his back and led him towards the men's bathroom at the end of the hall, their footsteps ricocheting of the walls as all other students were still in classes.

The bathroom was empty, as well. "Wait here," Kyle instructed him as he went into one of the stalls to get sandpaper-like toilet paper, then returned, opened the faucet and wet it, emitting hushing noises as Stan hissed in pain once Kyle started treating his wound. "Just hold still, Stan…" he said quietly, applying pressure to his chin. After a few minutes he left it, threw the used piece of toilet paper into the garbage can beneath the sinks and then pressed a new one to his nose.

A burning feeling engulfed Stan's face and he wasn't sure if it was the pain or the blush at feeling Kyle touching him so tenderly and hushing him. Kyle was so close; his face was mere inches from his own and Stan closed his eyes, afraid to open them and look at his best friend's face in fear that he might do something he'd regret later. His breathing slowed down drastically, his mind was reeling and he wasn't sure if it was because of the minor blood loss or Kyle's hands, which were touching him so gently. A quiet moan escaped his lips as Kyle's fingers caressed his right cheek suddenly and he opened his eyes to look at him, somewhat surprised to find Kyle's eyes moist and focused on him, penetrating, as if reading every thought that ran through his mind. "Kyle?" Stan breathed, looking at him questioningly.

"Shh…" Kyle hushed and Stan kept on staring at him, puzzled but on the other hand not wanting Kyle to ever stop touching him like that.

"A-are you okay?" he asked his Jewish best friend as said boy licked his lips, and Stan noticed that the redhead was breathing with some difficulty, as well.

"I-" Kyle started, his voice quivering somewhat. "I just realized… life is so short. I know you're not hurt bad now, but… someday you _might _be. I… I can't afford to lose you, Stan…" Stan's heart was beating so hard in his ribcage that he was sure it will break, and suddenly he realized he forgot to breathe. Kyle stopped caressing his cheek then and simply kept his hand there, his green eyes burning with numerous emotions.

"Kyle, w-what are you doing?" Stan, finding his voice again, asked.

Kyle didn't reply. He merely inched closer until Stan could feel his warm breath on his face. Stan's eyes fluttered shut as excitement bubbled up inside of him, and he took a sharp intake of breath when Kyle's lips brushed tenderly against his, barely touching, caressing them like the hand that was caressing his cheek a moment before. The tears he managed to stop a few moments before now sprang again to his eyes and trickled down his cheek as that red pair of lips brushed against his once more, this time staying in place a bit longer before the sensation disappeared again.

Stan waited for his friend's lips to return to touching his, but when he released the breath he had been holding for a long moment he realized it was not going to happen. He opened his eyes slowly and they widened as he saw his best friend looking away, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Kyle-" he tried, but Kyle waved his hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"I-I'm sorry…" he stuttered, voice shaking even harder than before. "I shouldn't have…"

"Kyle," Stan said again, quietly, and stepped closer to the Jewish boy, lifting his hand and gripping his shoulder, using his other hand to cup his chin and cause his best friend too look at him. Kyle's eyes were filled with uncertainty and fear, and it caused Stan's heart to break, but he smiled in spite of himself and caressed Kyle's cheek gently, just as Kyle had done to his, before leaning in and pressing his lips against the redhead's. He felt Kyle's arms shooting up to his back, hugging him close as the kiss deepened. Stan still had tears trickling down his face, but he didn't feel them; all he was aware of was the sensation of moist lips against his somewhat bloody ones, the feeling of strong arms hugging him, and the smell of sweat from gym class engulfing him as he was kissing his best friend, the one person he loved more than life itself.

Both of them were so engrossed they didn't notice the bathroom door opening, the eyes that saw them widening, and the door closing after that someone as he walked away, leaving them to be.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note III: **please review!


	4. Spectators

**Disclaimer: **if South Park was mine, Stan and Wendy wouldn't have gotten back together :P

**Author's Note I: **finally, exams are over! so this for m-Emzy for drawing me the MOST AWESOME THING IN THE WORLD. But I doubt she's reading this, so this is also for mano3813, because she was depressed about mid-season 12 being over. Hope you're feeling better, dear!

**Author's Note II: **gah, I hate this chapter. I think you'll agree with me; it's quite boring, and I think I might have ruined what I tried to do with Cartman's character, and Stan came out a bit… I don't know. But I'll let you judge. Please note that even though not much happens in this chapter, it is still important.

It was really hard to write it, and I'm guessing I'll be having trouble with the next few chapters, as well…

**Author's Note III: **obligatory apology for spelling and grammar mistakes, English is not my native tongue. Besides, I'm really tired… there are probably a few mistakes I missed…

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Four: Spectators

_He was on that lush hill again, breathing in the fresh mountain air and allowing it to sooth him as his hand stroked the red curls of his best friend - whose head lay on his right thigh - and drew small circles on his scalp. Beneath him, his best friend kept his eyes shut, and Stan relished on the feeling of the silky strands between his fingers. Oh, how he longed to touch those curls… for years that was all he could dream about; twirling those fiery curls around his fingers as his best friend, his love, relaxed at the touch. Yet Stan never dared to touch that hair, the color of which matched the fire that was blazing in his heart and soul whenever he sneaked a peek at his best friend, fearing that a single, light, touch would burn his hand and scar it forever. But now, as he sat on that gorgeous hill, his heart fluttering like the various butterflies around, no scorching flames burned his hand as he gazed into the distance while running his hand slowly through his best friend's hair, his eyes taking in the many hills that surrounded them, a wired fence in the distance, green grass, various flowers, wildlife, their small town… and most important of all, his best friend's head on his lap. His hand stopped._

_Kyle's eyes fluttered open. "Why did you stop?" he asked weakly, grabbing a hold of Stan's hand before he could retreat it. _

_Stan shrugged. "Dunno, really…" was his reply before he resumed his strokes, but slower this time around. _

_"That feels good," Kyle said with a voice so low that Stan had to strain his ears in order to hear his words properly. "You don't need to stop." _

_Stan smiled. "You have no idea for how long I've wanted to do that," he said, his hand grabbing a weak hold of a few strands of red hair. Kyle chuckled. "Seriously, dude!" Stan continued, "wet dreams and all that shit… I don't need those. Just… this…"_

_"Feeling romantic today, aren't we?" Kyle asked, the smile never leaving his face. He lifted his hand and touched Stan's cheek, stoking it at the same pace Stan did with his hair. He gulped. "And you have no idea for how long I've wanted to do this…" he said, his hand stopping as he slowly guided Stan's face downwards until their lips met in a slow kiss, which caused the butterflies in Stan's heart to flap their wings harder as numerous emotions engulfed him, and he put his other hand on Kyle's chest, checking if, perhaps, Kyle had butterflies in his heart, too, and was thrilled when he picked up the quick pace of the beatings of his best friend's blood pump. His Jewish friend's lips contradicted the beatings of his heart as they moved slowly against his own, and Stan could feel his blood cells starting a quest to the south. He moaned quietly into Kyle's mouth and pulled weakly at his curls, causing his friend's face to tilt upwards and the kiss to deepen. Stan forgotten all about the fresh air as his best friend's scent intoxicated him, and at that moment he wished for nothing more than to breathe it for ever and ever. _

He was not usually the silent watcher, but when he was being left out constantly, he had no choice but to merely watch his friends as they grew and changed, had no choice but to learn their habits, even when _they_ weren't aware of them.

Stan and Kyle were especially interesting; the entire town knew them to be best friends, and he always wondered how no one saw – boys in question included – that they had something else going on. The way they touched each other, how they smiled at each other, that somewhat glazed over look (which was so quick he was amazed he even managed to catch) that their eyes had whenever they looked at one another when they thought no one else was looking.

But Kenny McCormick was.

Sometimes he feared that they will never notice; that they'll remain as best friends and nothing more, but then he walked to the bathroom one day while he was skipping class, and there he saw them kissing. He was shocked a bit at first, as he was almost certain that they were too oblivious to ever see beyond what was verbally conveyed, but then his composure returned and he smiled to himself and turned around, leaving them to be.

He watched them with that same smile now and with his chin in the palm of his hand. Stan's head rested on his forearms and a goofy smile was plastered on his face, then his lips pursed somewhat and moved slowly, as if he was whispering so quietly that even the inhabitants of his dream were not supposed to hear his words. Kenny chuckled to himself as he realized what that probably meant, and watched with mild amusement as Kyle nudged his best friend, trying to wake him without averting his gaze from their English teacher. He hissed his name, even, but it did no help. In fact, if at all, it seemed as if Stan was sinking deeper into his dream of two lovebirds sharing teenaged kisses.

Should he tell them that he knew, he wondered as he fought the urge to laugh out loud when the teacher smacked Stan with her book of Shakespearean plays, causing him to wake up in panic. The rest of their class, apparently, did not feel as if they should hold their gloating back, and Kenny noted with mild annoyance that Cartman's laughter was heard the loudest of all.

He saw Kyle mouth a slow 'dude' as his lips curved into an embarrassed grin that barely matched Stan's few moments before.

Should he tell them that he knew, and then they would know that they have at least one friend to turn to when in trouble, or should he just let them be and step in only when serious trouble would arise? Knowing South Park, it was just a matter of time. They were cute, he noted as he noticed Kyle patting Stan's back reassuringly as the latter blushed a deep shade of red. He also noted, with some confusion, the narrowing of Cartman's eyes as he watched that affectionate display. _They should watch of him_, Kenny told himself as Cartman huffed to himself and crossed his arms over his chest angrily. Cartman was the most oblivious of them all to things, perhaps, but when he noticed something he made sure to make full use of it, and if he'll get just the slightest suspicion that two of his friends were actually more than friends, then… well… things wouldn't be so easy for them.

He'll watch them from afar in the meanwhile, he decided. Watch them like he always does and only intervene when needed.

* * *

Stan always thought that he had it bad when he was merely _crushing_ on Kyle, yet even now, even though he had him, he still could not bring himself to avert his gaze from him when he was sitting just a few desks away, writing diligently every word that spewed out of their teacher's mouth. Stan felt ridiculous, really, but he simply could not look away. Kyle, his Kyle, was so beautiful no matter what he did that he was worth the C or D Stan will get on his mid-terms due to his daydreamings. His Kyle… he still found it hard to get used to the sound of that phrase. Ever since that fight with Cartman in the bathroom, he'd always assumed that getting Kyle to like him back would take time. But here they were, officially a couple for about two weeks, and all he had to do was to be stupid and not block his fall due to surprise.

He smirked to himself as he thought of how Cartman's stupid little plan had backfired, and could not help but wonder what would be the fatass' reaction once he'd find out that he lost their little bet. He would not kill him, as Clyde Frog was still held hostage by him, but Stan knew Eric Cartman for a long time, and he knew that the bastard was capable of things that only truly insane people would ever think to commit. As much as Stan wanted to gloat, to stand in front of Cartman, grab Kyle and kiss him deeply while Cartman would frown and get mad at the display, he knew that doing so would probably lead to some unwanted consequences.

What worth does this bet has when Stan cannot even announce to the world that he had prevailed, that he came out victorious?

The teacher asked a question and Kyle's hand came up immediately as a small smile adorned his face. Stan sighed stupidly and watched proudly as Kyle gave the answer to, what Stan guessed to be, a difficult question without even batting an eyelash. Stan adored Kyle's brain and geeklike antics, and this gave a chance to a small hope to grow within him; that Kyle was probably smart enough not to fall for Cartman's tricks when he would work with him on the paper they were assigned to do together.

"Dude," he said as he approached his best friend once the class was over. "I… what class was that again?"

Kyle looked up at him, mildly confused. "Uh… Spanish?" he said.

Stan nodded. "Right, right…" he said and looked about as all students filed out of the classroom. "So I was thinking," he said in a quieter tone, "my parents won't be back until much later today. I have the house all to myself. You… want to come over?" he asked, hesitant, still not reassured in the fact that yes, he and Kyle Broflovski were officially an item.

Kyle smiled. "I-" he started, but before a consonant could leave his mouth Eric Cartman suddenly appeared next to them, causing both to frown.

"Why, hello Kahl," he greeted in his annoying accent, bending over in order to look at Kyle at eye-level. "I do recall we have a paper to write," he finished.

Kyle's frowned deepened. "Uh… yeah, we do."

"Well" Cartman continued, moving a bit to his left and pushing a not-so-enthusiastic Stan Marsh in the process. "Don't you think we should start working on it?"

"We still have time, fatass," Kyle replied angrily, then cocked his head to look at Stan, his frown turning into that gorgeous smile of his. "I wanna be with Stan this afternoon," he replied. "He uh… he has a new video game." A light blush colored his cheeks as he said this, and Stan noted with some dread that Cartman got that thoughtful look in his eyes when he saw that.

"Then you wouldn't mind me joining," Cartman said, bending even lower and bringing his chin to rest on his hand.

Kyle coked his eyebrow. "What? Of course we would!" he argued.

"And why is that, Kahl?" Cartman asked in that whiny, annoying voice again. "You need some private time with your faggy little boyfriend?" Stan and Kyle cringed at that.

"What, just because I don't want you around it means that he and I are a couple?" Kyle tried to argue again, but he sounded less decisive than before.

"Of course it does," Cartman replied. "Why else would you want to be alone with him?!"

"Uh, Kyle…" Stan said then, brushing his hand against Kyle's shoulder in order to get his attention. "Maybe… maybe it _is_ a good idea to start working on our papers, you know? Just making Kenny to sit down and listen should take me about a week, so…"

Kyle looked up at him incredulously with his eyes wide. "What?" he breathed, his hands shaking somewhat.

Cartman frowned deeply and Stan gulped. "Yeah, then later tonight we can all gather at my house and play video games." Kyle mouthed something, probably trying to remind him that he in fact didn't _have_ a new video game in his possession, but Stan already figured he'd have to worry about that later. He could not let Cartman get too suspicious (though he believed that his backing-down only contributed to that fact), or else they would feel his wrath. There would be the time and place to let him know about his loss, but it wasn't just before going home after a long school day, and especially not in the middle of a high school filled with nosy kids.

"You've got to be kidding me, Stan!" Kyle said, doing his best to move away from Cartman, who was invading his personal space.

Stan waved at him as he backed away. "No, seriously dude. Just come by in the evening, you and Cartman… we'll have a guys night, I'm sure my folks wouldn't care!" Then he promptly left the class, rummaging though his bag in search for his wallet, racking his brain in an attempt to think about a cheap, yet cool, video game he could afford to buy.

Kyle will forgive him, he figured. After all, Stan was sure he, too, would rather avoid Cartman's endless mockery if was possible.

* * *

Cartman was positive he would be able to commence his plan to seduce that goddamned Jewish dog when faggy little Stan left them, but then Kyle huffed, collected his things and rose from his seat. "Where are you going?" Cartman asked as he followed him into the depths of their school building instead of towards the exit to the parking lot.

"To the library," was the Jewish rat's curt reply.

"Why?" Cartman asked, as he figured he'd take that stupid Kyle to his house, where they would have peace and quiet and no one would disturb them or him as his plan would come into action.

"To search for material, of course," Kyle replied impatiently again as he rounded a corner and waved to a classmate in his haste.

"I have it all in my head, we don't _need_ the library!" Cartman tried to argue.

Kyle stopped abruptly and turned around, shooting daggers at Cartman, an action which caused the latter's heart to beat with excitement. "Listen, fatass!" he hissed, pointing a finger at Cartman's chest. "All you have in your head is an anti-Semite propaganda that you just can't _wait_ to use against me! You made Mrs. Brown to pair us together and I _know_ it, but if you _think_ that I will let you get away with all your racist, stupid, biased, remarks then you are horribly mistaken!" then that Jewish no-good fag turned around again and resumed his swift walking towards the library.

Cartman frowned at his retreating figure, but followed, nonetheless, figuring he'd just have to change his first steps a bit.

The library was quite empty once school was over, and Cartman was amazed by the levels of geekhood which Kyle showed. Nobody uses the school library anymore, Wikipedia and Google have all the information that they need, really, in addition to his head, of course. All that their library had were books, of which the newest were from a decade ago. Kyle, though, as typical of a Jewish rat, chose to ignore those simple facts as he sat at one of the big tables near the window and threw his backpack on the table top, taking out a few papers and a pencil-case, and then he rose from his seat and began his search for history books. Cartman stood and watched him with interest as he bended, straightened up, searched, pulled out, pushed back in… he licked his lips unconsciously whenever those green eyes lit up as the Jew thought he saw a book that could help them, or perhaps a book that could serve to interest him alone.

"Alright," Kyle declared once he returned with a few books in his arms. "These are supposed to provide the general information I think we should start with. We should map out the basics today, and then in a few days we will look for additional information and material." Cartman nodded when he was expected to. He didn't care that much about that paper that much, really. He would get to listen to the Jew talking about the Holocaust of his people… that was to be the peak of his day.

Kyle opened the first book, a general encyclopedia, and flipped back and forth until he got to the page he was looking for. "Ah, here it is," he said. "Alright. So this says here… the Nazis actually had a few names for their camps, not all of them served as mere concentration camps. Some were transportation camps, POWs camps, death camps-"

"Like Treblinka," Cartman said, cutting Kyle's flow of speech.

Kyle looked at him oddly. "Yeah… there, see?" he pointed at a map. "Most of the concentration camps were in Germany, and Poland held the death camps."

Cartman sighed heavily. "Almost nothing is left of them," he said.

Kyle looked at him oddly again and pulled the book closer to him, as if suddenly afraid that Cartman would curse it somehow. "Y-yeah…" he stuttered.

"Treblinka is nothing but a pile of rocks," Cartman continued. Kyle blinked stupidly at him. "Because the Nazis ran away," Cartman added then, smiling inwardly as he figured that the stupid Jew was probably waiting for the racist remark that will not come today, not matter how much he waited.

Kyle sighed. "Alright, Cartman," he said. "What's the deal?"

Cartman blinked stupidly. "I… don't see what you mean."

"You've had at least three chances to throw in a racist remark, but you didn't. What the fuck's holding you back?" he asked, his eyes narrowing and voice rising in volume as he spoke.

Cartman held his hand to his chest, faking - and he guessed that Kyle could probably still see through that - hurt. "Why I am insulted!" he said, his voice more high-pitched than it usually is. Kyle frowned deeply at him. "Why do you think, my dearest Kahl, that I'd laugh at such a serious, sad subject?"

"Because you always do," was the simple, expected reply.

"Well then," Cartman said and grabbed the book, which Kyle tried to take from him. "I will prove you otherwise. You will see that I, in fact, am capable of doing things seriously, especially when it comes to homework! If during all of our time together I will say something against Jews, then I allow you to hit me with whatever you like! Heck, I'll even pay you!"

"A bet, then?" Kyle asked quietly, his lips curving into a smile.

"A bet it is," Cartman said and held his hand for Kyle to shake. "If I'll make any racist remark about Jews for the next month and a half, you'll get fifty bucks. And if I succeed…" he trailed off there, faking deep thinking. "If I win, then… I'll be satisfied with the fact that I won."

Kyle smiled broadly and shook Cartman's outstretched hand. "Deal," he said and kept staring into Cartman's eyes for a moment longer before returning to the black and white of the book which he held in front of him.

Cartman smirked mischievously to himself. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard, after all…

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

Please leave a review before you leave!


	5. A Race

**Disclaimer: **South Park and its characters do not belong to me; they belong to Matt and Trey. I'm writing this story just for fun and am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **first of all, many thanks to those, who took their time to leave a review!

**Author's Note II: **again, not much happens in this chapter. I'm glad I got to write it, though; I want to write as much as I can while I'm not drowning in homework and reading material. I hope I won't bore you too much, the story is _supposed _(supposed, because I have the uncanny tendency to rush things) to progress slowly until we get to the… main part of the story.

**Author's Note III: **sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes and for incorrect usage of words and phrases. English is not my native tongue, but I do my best!

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Five: A Race

_Arbeit Macht Frei._

_Every morning, mere minutes after the sun rose, he's used to get out of the camp grounds and gaze up at the sign. The cold morning air of early winter chilled his lungs and caused him to smile as he thought of the day of torture that lay before him. A few more transports, a few more selections… same old, same old. As much as he was an ardent supporter of the final solution the Führer had decided upon, he had to admit that the daily routine of the camp was beginning to tire and bore him. He clicked his tongue and a wicked smile crossed his lips. At least this morning, something would be done to break that boring cycle, even if just for a few minutes._

_He returned to the camp grounds and surveyed the many rows of prisoners, who stood there, their uniform hanging loosely from their slim bodies. "Well then," he started as he walked between them, his voice booming in the silence. "As I assume you've already heard, two of your friends tried to escape yesterday night." He stopped, turned around, and begun his walk towards the other side. "And I assume you already know what we do to those, who try to escape," he continued, stopped again, turned around, but this time remained in place. "They shall be hanged, just a matter of minutes, you Jewish dogs. They shall be hanged, and you are all going to watch your two little friends as their necks break. If any of my soldiers catches one of you looking down or away, they will be shot on the spot." A silence was his only reply of agreement. He waited for a few more seconds before nodding to himself and signaling for his subordinates on the gallows to take action. _

_At the moment the two goddamned rats fell through the hole, he heard a gun being loaded. He turned his head and watched as one of his soldiers pointed his gun towards one of the prisoners; the one with the remains of red hair on his head and blazing green eyes. The same prisoner, who caused his lungs to burn every hour of the day as he thought of him. The rest of the prisoners still stared forward. "Schultz!" he cried before the soldier could shoot. "What are you doing?"_

_"The fucking Jew looked away, sir!" Schultz answered, refusing to lower his weapon. _

_"Send him to my office," he, the commander, replied._

_"But sir-" Schultz tried, but was cut off by him._

_"No buts, Schultz! I give the orders here!"_

_Indeed, as all prisoners were sent to do their daily work, the commander found that skeleton of a Jew standing in his office, his back turned to him as he entered._

_"Well then," he said as he sat in front of standing Jewish male. "I see we have a problem here." The redhead remained silent. "Do you find it hard to understand a simple order? I thought you Jews were very smart, how else will you be able to control the world?" The Jew still did not utter a word. "Was he your friend?" he, the commander, asked, and the redhead's eyes widened before hardening once again. "I am correct then…" he rose from his seat and circled the Jew, clicking in his tongue all the while. "You know," he started, "I've heard of the little… gay escapades you have in your shacks. Did you and this friend of yours take part in them?" The Jew balled his hands into fists, and he, the commander, smirked._

_"I have a suggestion, you rat," he said, grabbing a hold of the prisoner and pulling him towards himself, making sure the Jewish dog would be able to feel his throbbing erection. "You show me just what you do during those nights, and I will give you… a day off."_

_"Never," the Jew spat out, his voice quiet, yet decisive. "I'd rather you send me to those gas chambers." _

_The commander nodded. "That could be arranged," he said. "Right after I take you by force," he grinded his body against the Jew's, his hold on him tightening. "But if you cooperate…" he whispered huskily, "I'll give you your life. For today."_

_The Jew gritted his teeth as he was undressed slowly, but made no move to resist as the commander was kissing his neck and caressing his body slowly, all the while grinding against him, preparing him for the inevitable… _

That was the reason Eric Cartman begun taking afternoon naps; he knew what he would dream about, and this dream was no exception. He sprung out of his bed and rushed into the shower, thrusting into his hand wildly, grunting with pleasure as he replayed scenes from his recent dream, his lips moving slowly as he chanted the name of his desire over and over again until he came with one, last thrust, moaning as the face of a screaming, teary-eyed Jew entered his mind. He sunk to his knees slowly, breathing heavily. Those dreams were getting better and better, more graphic, more… arousing. He smiled to himself, his hand still where it was mere seconds ago, stroking slowly. Soon, those wouldn't be just dreams…

He cleaned the mess he'd made and stepped out of the tub, pulling on himself the discarded articles of clothing he left on the tiled floor as he undressed himself in an anxious rush.

He half-wobbled into his bedroom and glanced at the clock on his drawer. It was a quarter to six, and in about an hour he would have to go to that bitch Stan's house and play some lame video game. At least his precious Kyle would be present, as well.

He yawned and his stomach rumbled. He cursed and went down to the kitchen, his eyebrows knotting and his eyes narrowing slightly as he remembered that his mother went to a meeting somewhere downtown in preparation for a conference she was going to attend in a few weeks. Eric Cartman opened the cupboard above his head and took out a loaf of bread, mayonnaise, a few pieces of ham from the fridge and a tomato, intending on making about three sandwiches to eat in order to calm down his hunger.

He cut himself in the process of preparation, cursed loudly and kicked the cabinet in front of him. He sucked on his bleeding finger slowly, his eyes narrowed as his other hand spread the mayonnaise over the bread. He honestly had no idea how he would fend for himself when his mother would be gone for a week. He had no grandparents to come and help him, nor siblings and truthfully speaking; no friends.

He huffed to himself as he sat down at the table and gobbled the ham sandwiches he'd sloppily made. His mother's food tasted much better than his, and he wondered how ever he allowed himself to give her the permission to leave him home alone. He figured that at least she'd leave him money, and then he would be able to reside at Shakey's Pizza and count on it for his nutrition. And, of course, he could always barge into one of his assholes as-if friends' houses and demand for food.

He felt a familiar rush of blood when he thought of how he would be able to sit in front of Kyle, watch him eat and undress him with his eyes slowly. Oh yes, it would be glorious…

As no better activity presented itself to him, Cartman spent the remaining of the hour zapping through channels, bored out of his mind. But, he thought, it sure beat being bored out of his mind in that damned _Stan's_ house.

As the clock struck seven he got up, stretched, and walked out of his home, lazily locking the front door and hiding the key beneath one of the pots, which decorated the nearest window to the entrance.

Cartman walked slowly down the street, his hands in the pockets of his pants as he breathed slowly into the scarf that engulfed his neck, trying to maintain his body heat. Whenever he came across a small rock on the pavement he kicked it as far as he could, and kept on with his little, foolish game until the rock disappeared from his sight. Thoughts of how unbelievably aroused that goddamned Jew could make him ran wild through his mind and made his cock twitch with anticipation.

"Well, hiya there, Eric!" that annoying, high-pitched voice stopped his train of thought and he glared at the crude intruder.

"What, Butters?" he asked, hoping – yet knowing it was a mere wishful thinking – that the blond would get the hint from his tone of voice and leave him alone.

"W-well, nothing really. Are you going somewhere?" Butters asked, putting the shovel that he held in his hand down and wiping the sweat from his brow.

"None of your business, gaywad," Cartman spat.

Butters looked down and shifted from one foot to another in embarrassment. "Gee, I-I'm sorry, Eric. Y-you looked kind of angry and I thought that your mom p-punished you or something…"

Cartman quirked his eyebrow, amazed at the other boy's naivety. "My mom doesn't punish me anymore, Butters," he said quietly.

Butters looked up. "R-really? you're lucky! my p-parents still ground me no matter what I do!" his blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Why, it's always 'what did you think you were doing, Butters?!' and 'you're grounded, mister!'" he said, lamely trying to mimic his father's authoritative voice. Then he smiled. "I'm just glad that they stopped sending me to the pit, th-though. I sure hated that…"

Cartman's eyebrow rose higher. "Pit…?" he asked, unsure whether he heard right.

"W-well, yeah! two hundred steps east from Stark's Pond, between two rocks. D-didn't your mom ever send you to a pit? S-so you could reflect quietly on your bad deeds?"

"No?" Cartman said. It always amazed him how stupid that boy could be.

"Well, I guess you're lucky then…" the blond looked down once more and took the shovel he discarded earlier. "Well, I should continue or my dad would g-ground me for loitering… have a g-good evening, Eric!"

Cartman waved him off. "Yeah, sure Butters…" he said and resumed walking towards Stan's house, chuckling to himself as he thought of what Butters told him. Gosh, that boy was so fucking poor and stupid that sometimes he had to fight the urge to laugh into his face whenever he saw him.

* * *

Kyle was already there when Cartman arrived to Stan's, and he frowned deeply as he found them in close proximity to each other, sitting on the couch, laughing.

"Oh, hey fatass," Kyle greeted him as he entered, that stupid grin still spread on his face.

"Hello, Kahl," he replied. "Why aren't you two gaywads playing?" he asked.

"W-we were waiting for you," Stan said and got up from the couch, walking towards the television and crouching in order to retrieve his game console.

"What are we playing, Stan?" Kyle asked, and Cartman frowned at the peaceful look that was stretched upon his pale features.

"Uh… Super Drive Smash 5," that stupid faggot replied, plugging the wires and turning on the television.

"Super Drive Smash 5?!" Cartman cried from his position near the couch. "Oh, come on, Stan! that has got to be the gayest video game ever!"

Stan shot him a glare. "No, it's not, fatass! now sit down and shut the fuck up!" he shot back.

Cartman huffed and sat down next to Kyle, as close as he could get in order not to make the Jew edge away from him. "Super Drive Smash sucked, and so did Super Drive Smash 2, three, and four! what in the world possessed you and made you buy the fifth?!"

"I liked this game, you butthole!" Stan said. "I'll buy whatever I want to, and if you don't like it, you're more than welcomed to leave!" he yelled.

Cartman crossed his arms over his chest angrily and pouted. "Whatever, asshole," he said. "You two can play this game all night if you want, but I'm not going to take part in it!"

"Can't say that I care!" Stan spat and sat on Kyle's other side, his anger immediately dying down. "Ready, Kyle?" he asked, his voice gentle, smiling. Kyle nodded way too happily for Cartman's liking and hit a few buttons on his controller. Cartman watched on as the two of them played, taking notes on how vulnerable that goddamned Jewish rat looked with his tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth as his body moved along with his red car, which raced Stan's blue one. He also took note on how their elbows touched occasionally, sometimes for too long before they retrieved them back to themselves.

"Let me play now, Stan," Cartman said as soon as the third round ended and made a move to snatch the controller from the house owner's hands.

"No way, Cartman!" Stan said, lifting the controller up and far from reach. "You said that it's a gay video game and that you don't wanna play it!"

"Well, I do now!" Cartman argued. "Now give the goddamned controller, you stupid gaywad!" he tried to snatch the controller yet again, his arm rubbing pleasantly across Kyle's clothed chest.

Stan glared, and Cartman wondered if he noticed that, too. "No, fatass! Move over!"

It was Kyle who pulled Stan's arm down, smiling gently at him and causing Cartman's insides to knot. "Come on, Stan. A few rounds won't matter. Let him play." Stan looked unsure and hesitant for a few more moments, but then gave in and let Cartman take hold of the controller he held unto so dearly.

Cartman smirked to himself and snatched it. "Ready to get your ass kicked, Kahl?" he asked, eyeing the Jew.

"You're going down, fatass," the Jewish dog replied, just the faintest hint of a smile on his face. The game begun.

Cartman knew that he was losing, and he also knew the reason why; all the while he pressed random buttons, attempting to rub his elbow against the Jew's and feeling a rush of excitement that caused him to shudder whenever he succeeded. He tried to lean to the side and touch Kyle with his entire right side, but Kyle, too, leaned to the right and thus Cartman always missed his chance.

"Are you even trying, Cartman?" Kyle asked exasperatedly once the round ended and put his controller down in his lap, looking at Cartman wearily.

Carman blinked at him. "What makes you say that, Kahl?" he asked.

"The fact that I'm two laps ahead of you?" was the reply.

"See Kyle? You should have let me play," Stan said.

Cartman huffed. "I was just experimenting," he said.

"On what? on how to press gas?" Stan asked and chuckled to himself, and Cartman scowled as he heard the Jew suppressing a chuckle himself.

"No, Stan," the name was spat. "Let's play another round, Kahl. This time you're _mine_," he said and glared at Stan as he said that last part, causing him to frown.

The game was resumed, and this time Cartman put more into winning, yet still managed to sometimes carelessly touch the Jew, who sat next to him, and he noted with a hint of gloating the frown on Stan's face that deepened whenever that pussy caught him doing so. He faintly remembered how in his dream the first prisoner to be hanged was a nameless face, and the second was Stanley Marsh himself. That particular memory made his will to win the race stronger.

The race was close, but in the end Kyle won.

"Ha! I beat you!" he declared happily and high-fived his best friend. Cartman wanted to say how the goddamned Jews always win, mostly by cheating, but kept his mouth shut. He will win, eventually. After all, he always does.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Cartman?" Stan asked, staring at him in wonder. Apparently he didn't know about the bet he'd made with Kyle…

"If you think I should say anything, then I guess you already know what and don't need me to actually say it out loud," Cartman replied. "Right Kahl?" he added with a small smile, wrapping his arm around the redhead's shoulder affectionately, causing both remaining boys to frown.

"Don't touch him, fatass," Stan hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"He's not yours, you pussy," Cartman hissed back, tightening his hold on the Jew as an image from his dream flashed through his mind and caused his fingertips to tingle with a sudden urge to pinch the Jew's nipples until said rat would scream out in pain, and then he would silence him by shoving his tongue down his throat. He looked into Kyle's eyes and his cock twitched pleasantly as he saw them burning with anger.

"Get your hand off of me, you fucking fatass," the Jewish dog said, prying him off. "Don't ever touch me," he warned.

"Touchy, aren't we?" Cartman said, making sure to caress Kyle's arm slowly, as if absentmindedly, as he took his hand down. "But you see, my dear Stanley," he continued, loving every wrinkle on the frown on Stan's face, "I came close to winning."

Stan huffed and retrieved his controller. "Close, but not enough," he said.

"Just give me time, Stan. Just give me time."

Kyle looked to his left and to his right with a confused expression on his face, and Cartman assumed he was feeling left out and was trying to decipher the exchange that occurred between the two other occupants of the house. He had the sudden urge to punch that oh-so-innocent face. "Well then," Cartman said as he rose from his seat and stretched, moaning and stretching his arm as far as he could in a failed attempt to touch the Jew rat one, last time. "I better go. I didn't eat properly and my mom should be back soon."

"How do you know?" Stan asked, smirking. "You keep track of her clients?"

Cartman kicked his leg. "Shut up, you goddamned hippy. Kahl, do you want to come over to my place tomorrow in order to continue our stupid project?" he asked, his voice a little higher and more childish.

Kyle blinked stupidly at him, but then nodded. "Uh… yeah, sure," he said.

Cartman nodded, as well, smiling inwardly. "See you around!" he declared and waved, rewrapping the scarf around his neck and leaving the house, his stomach demanding for food and his cock demanding for attention.

* * *

"I'm so glad he's finally gone," Stan whispered into his recent boyfriend's (he still felt somewhat giddy as he thought of that particular term) ear, running his fingers along the redhead's slim arm slowly. "Touching you like that…" he continued and noticed how Kyle shuddered whenever hot breath was blown into his earlobe.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Stan," Kyle said as he turned to face him, delivering a chaste kiss to his lips. "As if I'll ever go for that racist, son of a bitch."

Stan smiled and stroked his love's cheek gently, gazing lovingly into his green orbs. "I know, but it makes me so mad… no one's allowed to touch you like that but me," he said.

Kyle frowned, but Stan could tell he wasn't hurt seriously. "Neither of you own me, Stan," Kyle said, kissing him again. "Though I have to say that if at all, I would rather it would be you."

Stan's smile widened and he pressed his lips to Kyle's, still, even after many times they repeated this action, overwhelmed by how soft they were. The kiss lasted longer than a mere second this time, and Stan lifted his hand to Kyle's nape, pulling him closer as the redhead moaned quietly into his mouth.

"I still can't believe this is not a dream," Stan said when he pulled away, voicing his previous thoughts.

Kyle smiled. "Well, it isn't," he said.

Stan smiled. "I'm so glad the fatass's gone," he said, repeating his comment from a few minutes before. "Now we truly have the house all to ourselves."

Kyle leaned his head against his shoulder. "Yeah…" he breathed. "You know," he continued, fingering Stan's jeans, "he said he could last without racist jokes about Jews for the entire time I'll work with him on our project. Those will be the easiest fifty bucks I've ever earned!" he finished.

"You sure?" Stan said, laughing shortly. "Remember what happened the last time you placed a bet with Cartman?"

Kyle's eyes widened and he shuddered. "Ew. God, don't even remind me of that time! sick, dude!" he cried and punched Stan lamely.

Stan laughed, but his laughter died down almost as quickly as Kyle's self-confidence. "Say… Kyle?" he started, apprehensive, wrapping his arm loosely around the Jewish male's shoulders.

"Hm?" Kyle mumbled.

"What… what will Cartman get if he wins?" he asked.

"Oh." Kyle frowned. "He said that the satisfaction would be enough," he replied, nuzzling against Stan.

"Did he now…" Stan said back quietly, his voice barely reaching his own ears, and he unconsciously tightened his hold on Kyle.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note IV: **_Arbeit Macht Frei_ means "work frees". That is what written on the sign in the entrance to Auschwitz (I think), and maybe to some other camps…

Please leave a review if you like the story! I won't know you do unless you tell me! :D


	6. A Winner

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine; I'm writing this story just for fun and am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **there you go. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter; this is where the… main idea starts. I hope it didn't come out _too_ rushed :(

Please tell me what you think.

**Author's Note II: **I apologize for spelling or grammar mistakes, or incorrect usage of words… you know the deal.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter six: A Winner

_On then one hand, as he found himself sitting at the top of that lush hill, he knew he was dreaming. On the other, he did not. Kyle was sitting next to him, relaxing along with him as the soft breeze caressed their faces and soothed their minds. They were watching the same view, which was always seen from that hill; many green, identical hills around (theirs was the greenest), birds and bees, smoke towering from behind that wired fence, green grass, colorful flowers, and their town, which from afar seemed like a bunch of unattended shacks._

_He sighed, on the one hand wondering why his dreams were always the same, on the other thanking that fact._

_"It's so pretty up here," his love said quietly, apparently not sharing his somewhat melancholy thoughts, interlocking slender fingers with his. "I wonder why we never went here before…"_

_He tightened his grip on his love's hand, a small smile finding its way to his lips. "I figured you thought it'd be so gay," he replied. "But, seeing that you like it, I don't see why we shouldn't come here more often."_

_"Yeah," his love replied, cocking his head to the right and then to the left, stretching his neck. "It's so quiet and peaceful…" then he chuckled. "And no stupid fatasses around," he finished and laughed._

_Yet Stan could not bring himself to laugh along with his love; just the mentioning of the fatass made his stomach knot and his heart sink, and only when Kyle tried to pull his hand away did Stan realize that he was holding it too hard. "Sorry," he mumbled, allowing his love to return his hand to himself with a slight scowl._

_"Dude, what the heck?" he asked him then, shaking his hand slowly._

_Stan sighed. "Yeah, yeah… I'm sorry, Kyle, I-I don't-"_

_"It's okay," Kyle said, silencing him by putting a finger to his lips. "I'm not mad. Did me mentioning Cartman cause it?" he asked, his voice husky._

_"You can say that…" was Stan's reply._

_"I'm sorry," Kyle said, inching closer and pressing his lips to his, causing Stan's stomach to unknot and his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Kyle pulled away quickly, much to Stan's dismay, and stared off into the distance. "Hey, look," he said, pointing east. "I can see the train…"_

The ringing of his cell-phone woke Stan up and he rubbed his eyes groggily, groping about in search for it. He found it and laid it next to his ear, pressing the "send" button. "Hello?" he answered, his voice hoarse.

"Hi Stan!" it was Kenny, and way too cheerful for… Stan glanced at his alarm clock and frowned as he noticed that the hour was only 8AM.

"Kenneh… wha?" he barely managed, feeling sleep overcoming him.

"What, did I wake you up?" the blond asked from the other side and Stan's brow furrowed.

"No…" he said, his voice still not reaching normal decibels.

Silence. "Well, uh… you said we need to meet? In order to work on that Nazi propaganda shit… we have only one month left, you know!"

"Kenny," Stan said, sitting up slowly in his bed and yawning loudly. "It's Saturday."

"Yeah, so?"

"We agreed to meet on _Sunday_ after church!" Stan replied as he rubbed his temples, his voice finally loud enough for him to sound as he usually does.

Silence. "Did we?" Kenny asked and Stan groaned loudly.

"Yes!" he replied.

"Uh… sorry, then. You want to like, go back to sleep?"

Stan threw the blanket from atop of him and stood up on his blue carpet, stretching his limbs. "No," he said, voice somewhat strained. "I'm already fully awake, there's no way I can go back to sleep now. I'll eat some breakfast and then we can meet, if you want to. Might as well get it out of the way as soon as possible."

"Great! Your house or mine?"

Stan scratched his head. "Mine, obviously. You don't have a computer."

"Ah. Right. Well, I'll be at your place in about an hour?"

Stan sighed and yawned again. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"K, great. Bye then!" and without waiting for his friend to reply, Kenny hung up and left Stan to stare at the screen, which displayed the length of the conversation, in a loss.

Stan put the phone back on his drawer and scratched his crotch, an image of his redheaded boyfriend flashing momentarily in his mind as he did so. He smiled to himself and opened his closet, looking for a shirt to put on himself before he'd freeze to death. Kyle told him a few weeks ago how he wanted the spring to come, and Stan had no choice but to agree as he stood in front of his open closet and rubbed his hands along his arms in an attempt to keep warm. He chose a plain blue, long-sleeved shirt and wore it, puling matching sweatpants up and wearing white socks.

He brushed his teeth lazily, his eyes still half closed, and when he got out of the bathroom he noted that his parents were still asleep (the entire town was, probably. Except for Kenny, but that was because he was a very odd guy). He sighed heavily, figuring he'd have to make his own breakfast, and descended the stairs quietly, avoiding the step that he knew was creaking.

As he got to the kitchen he poured some cereal into a red bowl and added milk, plopping down on the wooden chair and reading the ingredients on the box as he ate, mulling over the foreign chemicals, not wanting to be left with nothing to read. He finished his breakfast quickly, and the clock on the wall told him that he still had about half an hour before Kenny was to arrive. With nothing interesting to do, he smiled mischievously to himself as he decided to give Kyle a call. He missed him, he had to admit, although he only saw him the evening before. He took the receiver from the kitchen wall and dialed quickly, waiting in anticipation for his boyfriend to pick up his phone.

"Hey dude!" the answer was almost immediate, and Stan smiled widely as he heard the happiness in his boyfriend's voice. "What's up?"

"Why are you up so early?" Stan asked, approaching the table and grabbing the bowl he used earlier, intending on putting it in the sink and forget about it.

"Mom was yelling at Ike because of some stupid shit…" the happiness was gone, and Stan could not help but chuckle at his love's annoyance with his family. Ever since Shelly moved away, he found life so much easier… "What about you?" Kyle asked as Stan heard noises of typing in the background.

"Kenny," he replied, knowing he had to say no more in order to explain.

"Ah," said Kyle in return. "And if I were asleep, as should have been… you called to wake me up?"

Stan laughed. "Yeah, I still have time before Kenny arrives so we could work on our History project…"

From the other side, Kyle groaned. "Akh," Stan loved it when he used that throaty, Semite sound. "Don't remind me of that!" Kyle said.

Stan frowned in puzzlement. "What, is he mocking you again?" he asked.

"No, no… but just… he knows so much about the Holocaust it's disturbing." Then he laughed heartily, which caused Stan to smile. "Once that month of No-Jew-Jokes he set for himself is over, I bet he'd use the Holocaust to annoy me somehow!'

Stan laughed too, but it was forced. "Yeah…" he said quietly. Then another thought entered his mind and he brightened. "Say, you wanna stop by later? I think my parents are supposed to go out, and you know, I'll be going with them to visit some relatives in a few days…"

"For Easter?" Kyle asked.

Stan nodded. "Yeah… stupid thing gonna last the entire vacation! man, no matter how much I tried to talk to them, they wouldn't let me out!"

Kyle laughed again. "You should have asked me for excuses, I'm an expert!" Stan smiled. "Anyway, yeah, I'd love to stop by." His voice turned husky as he said that, just like in the dream.

"K, great!"

"Cool," was the somewhat dry reply. "Anyhow, gotta go now! mom's calling…"

"Alright, talk to you later." Then, before he could hang up, Stan added a quick, quiet 'I love you', to which Kyle replied with those same three words and hung up.

Stan had never felt so good.

He spent the remaining of his free time in front of his computer, checking a few sites he checked on a regular basis, until the doorbell rang. Stan got up from his chair and ran down the stairs, this time around failing to skip the creaking step, and rushed to the door. "Hi, dude!" he greeted as he opened it and came face to face with his blond friend.

"Sup," Kenny replied, and Stan stepped away in order to allow him in. "Got anything to drink?"

"What would you like?" Stan asked, walking towards the kitchen.

"Meh, anything's good."

Stan nodded and opened the fridge, checking a few bottles before choosing an orange juice and pouring it into two glasses. Kenny joined him in the kitchen and thanked him as he took the glass from his friend's hand and drank it in one gulp.

"Dude, you know," Kenny said as he sighed contently after finishing his drink. "I love coming to your places only because you guys have something else besides water to drink!"

"Gee, ah… thanks?" Stan said, unsure as to whether he should take it as a compliment or not.

Kenny patted his back affectionately. "No need to thank me, my dear Stan! I only speak the truth!"

"Yeah, sure…" from upstairs, Stan could hear his parents waking up. "Anyway, let's go up to my room and make some progress on this annoying project."

Kenny nodded. "Yeah, I think it's a good idea." He followed Stan up the stairs, and as they entered his room he added: "you know, we should ask fatass, too. He probably knows a lot about their propaganda as well! he always tries using their methods, after all!"

Stan huffed. "I don't want to ask anything of that idiot," he said as he plopped down on his chair in front of his computer.

"Why?" Kenny asked. "Sometimes he can be helpful."

"Helpful my ass," Stan said angrily. "You ask him for a favor, and the next thing you know you have nude pictures of you as a baby all over school!"

Kenny laughed. "Yeah, he does that shit sometimes. But propaganda _really is _his field."

"Unfortunately," Stan replied, but his words never reached Kenny's ears.

* * *

Sheila Broflovski had always disliked him, and Eric Cartman could not blame her, as he was known throughout town for his Anti-Semitic views. Yet he could not say that he really cared; the Jewish dog's mother was a stupid bitch that always got on everyone's nerves – even those of her own family – and he never viewed her as a very smart person; all she was able to do was yell at people until she got what she wanted, always protesting, always fighting. In all truth, he highly disliked the obese woman.

He frowned at her when she opened the door for him, and she frowned right back, crossing her arms over her bosom and tapping with her foot annoyingly on their decorative carpet.

"What do you want, Eric?" she asked, annoyance evident in her voice.

"Oh, nothing much, Mrs. Broflovski," he replied, his stomach knotting as the words spewed out of his mouth. He hated being overly polite to people he hated, especially when he could get nothing out of them. "Kyle and I, we need to work on our History project today!"

Her frown deepened. "Kyle did mention something like that," she said. "Alright, come on in, but you make one wrong move and you're out of here faster than missile!" she finished in her accented voice and stepped away to allow him into her home. He nodded her way as he entered, muttering obscenities as he ascended the stairs.

"Hello, Kahl," he greeted as he opened the door to the Jew's room, not bothering to knock.

Kyle, who was sitting on his bed with the phone to his ear, looked up and didn't spare him even the slightest smile. "Gotta go now, Stan," he said into the receiver. "Fatass's here…yeah, the project. Why else would he be?" a slight pause, as he probably listened to the pussy on the other side of the line. "Did Kenny leave already? okay, great, so I'll see you later." Then the stupid Jew smiled that pure smile of his, the one which caused Cartman to want to pull all of that goddamned Jew's teeth out and make him bleed. "Bye then," he said finally, whispering, that stupid smile never leaving his face. Cartman frowned deeply and sat on the green chair in front of Kyle's desk, which was loaded with books and notebooks.

Kyle hung up and looked at him, offering him only a small nod of recognition. "Did you bring the material from the library?" he asked.

Cartman huffed. "Yeah, yeah," he said, uncaring, taking a few copied papers out of his yellow bag and throwing them at the Jewish dog's direction. "The best books there are," he added, the words rolling slowly and painfully on his tongue.

Kyle released a small sound of agreement as he skimmed through the batch of papers in his hand, nodding to himself all the while and pursing his lips in thought, causing his awfully Jewish face to look even more stupid and causing Cartman's blood to boil.

"So I think we could add a little about the Death Camps, even though it's not our subject," Kyle said.

"Like what? We can't get into this subject too much…" Cartman replied. "Besides, if my fourteen years of knowing you were enough, you would probably get so angry when you'll read about those camps that we will get nothing done." That last bit was really hard for him to say, and Cartman felt bile rising up in his throat. Stupid bet… but he had to endure.

His comment was paid off when Kyle chuckled into his hand, trying to hide it as a cough, but Cartman knew what it was. He smiled to himself. "What I mean is," Kyle started, the traces of a small smile still on his lips. "Like… how some camps were half and half. Auschwitz, for example… can we include labor camps?" Kyle asked as he looked up at him. Cartman shrugged. "Yeah…" Kyle continued, then skimmed some more and frowned deeply. "What is this? 'Stand Cells', 'Dark Cells'… I didn't know those existed! I mean, sure, the Nazis did a lot of cruel shit, but I always thought… I didn't know they used those! Dude, to be choked to death like that…" Kyle shuddered, which caused Cartman to shudder, as well, but not from fear – from pleasure.

"You have to be amazed, though," Cartman said.

Kyle looked like he was about to snap at him, but then looked down sadly and nodded. "Yeah… how they managed to carry all of this out so… so… _flawlessly_…" he said, voice quiet. He turned the page over and then laid the stack on his drawer, leaning backwards on his elbows. "Well then," Kyle said and sighed heavily. "Move the mouse so the screensaver will disappear," he told him and Cartman did just that, revealing a plain green wallpaper. "Okay, now move over so I can start to type."

Cartman frowned. "Why? I have fingers, too, you know!"

"Yeah, but…" Kyle began, hesitant. "I'd much rather to type it myself."

Cartman huffed. "Why can't you trust me on this one paper, Kahl?" he asked. "I do recognize the importance of it!"

Kyle snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, causing Cartman's brown eyes to travel to where he assumed the Jew's nipples were located. "Sure you do, fatass. So you could piss me off more often!" he said.

Crtamn hit the left side of his chest with his palm, feigning hurt. "Why would I try to use the Holocaust against you, Kahl?" he asked in the most serious tone he could manage.

"How about the time you dressed like Hitler and marched through town?" Kyle asked, raising his voice.

Cartman shook his head slowly, as if shocked. "We were nine then, Kahl! all of us did stupid shit when we were nine!"

"Not like that, we didn't," Kyle said slowly, as if warning him.

Cartman sighed heavily and held his hand up. "Listen, Kyle. Whatever I did back then – and I know it was some crazy stuff – I'm sorry," then he took a deep breath and continued. "But… now I'm older, mature. I… I want to change! but it's so hard now… I want to change that image you've got on me, Kyle," he said, again struggling to get the words out. "Help me change?" he asked in the quietest, most pleading tone he ever used, his eyes widening slightly in order for him to look more innocent.

"Are you serious?" Kyle asked, cocking his eyebrow. Cartman nodded. "Well…"

"I knew you'd agree!" Cartman cried before Kyle could finish what he had to say and got up from the chair, clasping Kyle's hands in his own. Kyle blinked stupidly at him. "Oh, Kahl… I'm so happy!"

Kyle blinked again. "Uh… yeah, sure," he said. "Now come on, we have to start working."

_We do indeed, Kahl. We do indeed…_

* * *

"Dude!" was the first word Stan said when he opened the front door to reveal his boyfriend, greeting him with a chaste kiss. "I thought you'd never come!"

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, well, we did a lot of progress today," he said, smiling.

"You just met with Cartman and you're not furious?" Stan asked, incredulous.

Kyle laughed again, causing Stan's heart to soar. "Yeah, well… he's more… civilized now," he said.

Stan's heart sunk and he lifted his hands to hold Kyle by the shoulders, closing the gap between them and kissing him once more, this time not pulling away so quickly. Kyle kissed him back, but this time it didn't make him feel euphoric. When he finally pulled away Kyle looked down sadly at him. "I'm gonna miss you so much," he said, stroking his black hair.

"Me too," Stan said. "But I won't be gone long, only a week." Kyle smiled. Stan smiled, too. "Wanna go up to my room?" he asked, nodding his head in that direction.

"Sure, why not," Kyle said, then leaned to whisper something in his war, even though they were completely alone. "Maybe I should give you a present before you leave next week…" Stan blushed beet red, feeling that familiar sensation in his stomach. "Don't worry," Kyle whispered huskily. "I'm sure you'll do fine…"

* * *

Cartman sat on the made bed in his room, staring into the wall in front of him and feeling his insides knotting and churning as the image of that Jewish dog in various positions flashed again and again in his mind, causing his cock to twitch pleasantly as it did when they were in Kyle's room earlier, researching about the thing Cartman knew all there is to know about. He stroked himself for a bit, moaning quietly as the image of Kyle in striped uniform entered his mind, causing saliva to form in his mouth.

Oh yes. Now his plan was in motion; he would spend more time with Kyle and make him see that that faggot Stan was not worth the trouble. Then Kyle would be his and he would be able to do whatever he wants with him: tie him, blindfold him, beat him… and Kyle would cry and moan in pain, and that would be oh so glorious.

He grunted as he came, stopping for a minute to catch his breath before reaching for a Kleenex.

A sudden urge to see the goddamned Jew's face erupted inside of him and he put on his shoes and coat, intending on seeing that stupid, freckled face as soon as he could. He would stare at him then and feel even more satisfied than he did just a few moments before.

He did not bother to tell his mom he was leaving as he closed the front door behind him, walking towards Stan's house as he assumed, and correctly so, That Kyle was still there, probably playing some stupid video game or another.

Cartman knew that a ladder was always kept in the Marshes backyard, since the day that Stan's dad could not find it when he needed it the most. They always kept a spare one behind the bushes.

Cartman leaned the woodened ladder on the western wall and climbed up slowly, excitement building up inside of him. He peeked into the room, remaining low, and nearly fell backwards in shock at what he saw: that fucking king of faggots Stanley Marsh giving a fucking head to that goddamned Jewish dog. And that stupid Jew laid there, his mouth opening slightly and then closing as he probably moaned in pleasure. Cartman was seething with rage and didn't notice he was biting his bottom lip even when it started to bleed. Stan let go then and simply stroked slowly, staring at Kyle with an ugly smile plastered all over his way too pale face. His other hand was not seen.

Cartman released a furious noise from the back of his throat when Stan looked his way suddenly. The faggot's eyes widened for a moment and his motions slowed, but then he smiled wickedly and stroked faster, his eyes never leaving the window. Kyle's mouth opened wide as he moaned so loudly even Cartman could hear it, and then he decided he'd seen enough and climbed down, shivering with rage.

Stanley Marsh _will_ pay.

And the best way to get back at Stan, would be to get back at Kyle…

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note III: **in "Stand Cells" prisoners were forced to stand in a cramped space for hours, and in "Dark cells" they choked slowly as oxygen ran out (according to Wikipedia).

**Author's Note IV: **please, leave a review if you find this story to your liking! I ache to know what you think!


	7. A Hunter

**Disclaimer: **South Park does not belong to me, and I am not making any profit out of this story.

**Author's Note I: **I seem to be updating quickly, aren't I? Hopefully, it will continue this way.

So this chapter is where things turn… dark. Don't say I didn't warn you!

**Author's Note II: **Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, English is not my native tongue and I might have missed some mistakes when I proof-read it.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Seven: A Hunter

_His boots hit the earth with a loud noise with each step he took while swinging his club from side to side as a wicked smile made his eyes narrow with menace. The prisoners' shacks were shrouded with foreboding darkness, and he glanced up at the numbers above the large doors from a time to time until he came to the place he was looking for. He unlocked the door and entered the dark hall, hearing quiet gasps and watching with self-satisfaction as the prisoners, who were awake still, squirmed around on their bunks. Filthy Jews…_

_The sound of his boots meeting with wood ricocheted from the walls and pleased his ears as he glanced to his left and to his right, searching for that bald head with traces of read hair. He frowned as he kept on looking forward; all of the prisoners looked the same in the dark, with their skin hanging off their bones, and their huge ears and huge noses. The place was damp and smelled pungent, like sperm, excrements and urine, causing his nostrils to burn and a smile to return to his face. He loved that smell._

_The smell of Auschwitz. _

_He came to a stop in front of one of the bunks, his nose mere inches from traces of red hair. He chuckled evilly to himself, sensing the two Jewish dogs, who surrounded his prey, waking up and trying to pretend to be asleep as they noticed it was him. He grabbed a hold of the redhead's shoulder and the Jew woke up abruptly, just in time to be yanked to his feet, nearly falling over. "You're coming with me," he whispered in the Jew's ear and dragged him out of the hall with no effort, dragging him after him in the darkness of the night until they reached the office, where he threw him on a wooden table._

_For weeks he'd been holding off, waiting, observing from afar. But he could wait no more; just the thought about the goddamned Jewish dog made him aroused beyond belief, and he was sick of merely looking._

_He tore the striped uniform from the thin body, enjoying the silence he received from the victim. The Jew knew his death was a sure thing if he was to scream, and he wanted to live. Everyone in this camp, every camp, wanted to live._

_He, the dominator, penetrated without delay, grunting with pleasure as his victim tried to squirm away, biting back a scream of pain._

_In and out, in and out…_

_His grunts came quicker and quicker, sweat covered his entire body until he finally came inside, enjoying the sight of the dirty, violated Jewish dog, covered with his sperm and his own tears that he failed to hold back._

Eric Cartman did not even go to the bathroom as he woke up that morning. He pulled down his pants immediately and stroked himself, breathing heavily as his hand rubbed faster and faster until his sperm was squirted, covering his legs and sheets. He breathed in deeply and pulled out a tissue from the top of his wooden drawer, wiping the remains of his sexual adventure away. He never enjoyed a masturbation this much, and he was immensely pleased with himself.

He lifted himself from his bed and pulled on some sweatpants to match with his pajama shirt, which he did not feel like taking off. His mother was downstairs in the kitchen, if the smell of breakfast was enough of an evidence. His stomach grumbled in anticipation and he licked his dry lips before opening his bedroom door and beginning his trek downstairs.

"Oh, good morning, hon," his mother greeted him with a wide smile, her right hand stirring whatever was in the pan. He huffed in reply and sat down at the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and flipping through the newspaper, yawning as one boring title after another greeted his plotting, brown eyes.

"Moooom," he began at his high-pitched voice, turning his head to look at her with puppy eyes.

"What is it, hon?" she asked, turning off the gas.

"I realized I was… always mean to Kahl, so I wanna make it up to him…"

She turned to look his way and clapped her hands once, smiling widely. "Oh, that is wonderful, hon! I knew you'd come to your senses someday!"

Cartman frowned inwardly. "Can you help me?" he pleaded. "I want to make him something before you leave in a few hours…"

"Oh, of course, Eric! I'd be glad to help you make amends with him, Kyle's such a sweet boy!" she said, serving him his breakfast.

"Yeah…" he replied, his voice wavering somewhat. "So um... I want to make him this fabric Star of David, but I don't know how…" he said, making sure to drag the vowels as much as he could.

"Oh, I'll make it in no time, sweetie! Do you want it blue?" she asked, taking off her apron and walking out of the kitchen in order to retrieve her sewing kit from her bedroom.

Cartman shook his head slowly. "No, Kahl doesn't like blue…"

His mother pursed her lips. "Oh, so… what color would he like?"

Cartman smiled. "I think…yellow."

She nodded. "Okay, hon. I will start right away, so you can just enjoy the first day of your vacation."

"Thanks mom!" he said, giving her a tight hug. The routine bored him after years of doing it whenever he wanted something, but it always served him, and even though it sickened him, to a degree, he ignored the churning of his stomach as a smile crept to his face.

Soon…

* * *

Stan opened his eyes groggily and smiled slightly when the first sight that greeted his blue eyes appeared to be a mass of red curls. His fingers did not even wait for his mind's permission before they entangled themselves in the silky strands and stroked it slowly. A soft sigh escaped Kyle's lips and his back tensed somewhat before he turned around to look at the causer of his awaking. "Morning," he mumbled, a perfect smile adorning his freckled face.

Stan blushed slightly and lowered his hand in order to caress Kyle's pale cheek, gazing lovingly at it as he noticed it reddened in color. "Hey," he said quietly. "How did you sleep?"

Kyle inched closer and captured his lips in his own, kissing him slowly. Stan's eyes fluttered shut as he savored the feeling, his other hand traveling to trace Kyle's naked side. When Kyle pulled away Stan opened his eyes slowly and was greeted with the widest smile he has ever seen on Kyle. "Great," Kyle said, moving on the mattress so he would be the closest to him as possible without suffocating him with his presence. "You?" he asked.

"Best sleep ever," Stan replied, giving Kyle a chaste kiss. "I'm gonna miss those sleepovers when I'm away," he added.

Kyle chuckled and closed his eyes briefly afterwards. "We should really stop calling them that," he said quietly. "How about 'fuckovers'?" he asked, whispering in Stan's ear and causing shivers to run down his spine.

Stan blushed beet red and edged away from his laughing boyfriend. "Dude!" he exclaimed. "Hell no!"

Kyle waved his hand as he clutched his stomach, doubling over as the chuckles wrecked his body. "Ah, dude," he started, wiping tears from his eyes. "Sorry about that." His eyes shone as he lifted his hand to massage Stan's shoulder gently. "I love it when you blush like that," he said, voice husky. He sighed deeply then and his smile wavered. "A week without you… I'll go crazy."

"I'm gonna be lonely without you around, too," Stan said, edging closer again and wrapping his arms around the naked body of his Jewish boyfriend.

"When are you leaving?" Kyle asked him, burying his head in the crook of his neck.

"In a few hours," Stan replied, stroking the red hair slowly. "I wish I could stay here…"

Kyle craned his neck and looked up, a small smile spreading on his lips. "So you could paint eggs?" he asked.

Stan huffed. "Dude, I don't do that shit anymore," he replied, tightening his hold. "What about you?" he asked then, looking down and burying his nose in Kyle's hair in the process. "Don't you have some matzos to eat?"

Kyle blanched. "Akh," Stan's heart leaped as that sound was emitted. "Don't remind me," was the reply. "I hate that shit. That's only about a month from today, though."

Stan kissed the top of Kyle's head, breathing in the intoxicating scent of shampoo mixed with sweat. "What are you planning to do on your week off?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged in his arms. "I dunno, really… will probably keep working on that project; we're almost done." Above him, Stan frowned. "Which reminds me," Kyle continued and lifted his head as much as he could with his current position, looking over Stan's shoulder and glancing at the alarm clock on the drawer. "I should probably get dressed," he said and detached himself from Stan, throwing his legs over the bed and standing up slowly, his naked glory causing Stan to blush again. "I promised fatass that I'll meet with him in a few hours."

"Cartman?" Stan asked, lifting himself on his elbows. "To continue with the history project?"

Kyle shook his head, pulling on his boxers before setting to look for his other articles of clothing, which were strewn about the floor, discarded the night before. "Nah, he wants me to help him look for a present for Kenny's birthday."

"Kenny?" Stan asked, incredulous. "Since when does he ever buy _anyone _gifts?"

Kyle shrugged once again, lifting a white shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. "Since he decided he wants to change. Man, I really don't feel like touring the mall with him."

"Why did you agree, then?" Stan asked, his stomach knotting as he lay back down.

"Sometimes I can be too nice," Kyle replied, spotting his jeans and wearing them, then frowning as he realized that finding his socks would be a harder task. "Besides, if he really does want to change, I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

Stan huffed. "What, you believe that bastard?"

"I don't know, you know? you can never know what he's planning."

Stan's heart sank. "Yeah…" he said quietly.

Kyle found his socks and shoes, put them on quickly and grabbed his coat from the back of Stan's chair. "Well then," he started, "I should be going now. Your parents might wake up soon, too. You don't want them to see you naked when I'm still in the room." Stan nodded and Kyle smiled at him before leaning down and kissing him. "I'll miss you, Stan," he said. "Call me from a time to time."

Stan nodded. "Obviously," he said, then tilted his head up so he could kiss his love again. He held Kyle's neck and pulled him down so he could deepen the kiss, and Kyle cooperated for a dew moments before pulling away, leaving Stan with a painful longing. "I should really go," he whispered, leaning down to give him one, last, quick kiss and standing up straight. "Have fun at you relatives'," he said, ruffled the black hair of the bed's occupant, turned around and opened the door.

"Hey Kyle," Stan called and the Jew turned his head to look at him. "You…" suddenly Stan found himself as a loss of words. "Be careful, alright?"

Kyle cocked an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "Careful?" he asked. "Of what?"

"It's just that… I have a bad feeling. Don't… don't believe whatever Cartman's telling you, okay? I think he's planning something."

Kyle chuckled and shook his head. "You worry too much," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Bye Stan," he finished, sparing a last wave at his boyfriend and mouthing a silent 'I love you' before closing the door behind him. Stan followed the sound of his footsteps until he heard the front door opening and closing. His stomach churned and he stood up abruptly, staring out of the window, his gaze following the Jewish male walking farther and farther down the street. A sudden feeling of foreboding engulfed him and he reached out a hand, as if to grab his boyfriend, who was already feet away, and only when his fingers collided with the cold glass did he realize it was hopeless. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes suddenly and for a brief moment he wished that Kyle wouldn't have kissed him that day in the bathroom.

All he could do, though, was hope that his bad feeling was simply due to the weather and nothing else as he kept on looking outside, his breath fogging on the window.

* * *

The mall was bustling with people and Eric Cartman eyed them warily, his fat arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on one of the marble walls, searching for a certain redhead in the crowd. He was excited, to say the least, at the knowledge that Kyle will soon be his and his alone. His mother won't be home when he'll get back with Kyle, and even though he still felt somewhat disturbed at the fact that he'll have to make his own food, the thought of finally dominating Kyle brightened him.

He stood up straight as he noticed the object of his innermost desires approaching him and nodded in acknowledgment. "Hello Kahl," he said, his hands leaving his chest in favor of the pockets of his pants. "How was your day so far?" he asked.

"Fine, you?" was the dry reply as Kyle looked everywhere but at him.

"My mom went to some faggy conference," he informed, starting to walk in the direction of the escalator.

"Yeah? Which?"

Cartman shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't know, don't care," he said.

"Ah. Well, you have any idea what you want to buy?"

Cartman held the his chin, faking thinking, as he already decided what to buy the day he saw the king of faggots having sex with the dirtiest Jew. "I wonder…" he said, using his high-pitched tone. "Should I buy him food?"

"Uh…" Kyle started and Cartman sensed his much arousing awkwardness. "I… don't know?" as they reached the top of the escalators Kyle added: "He has a job, I think he can take care of himself when it comes to food. Maybe something more lasting?" he suggested.

Cartman smirked to himself and clapped his hands. "I know!" he exclaimed, his voice caring, sickening him. "I should buy him something to wear!"

Kyle smiled. "That's a better idea," he said. "He doesn't have many shirts; it took him years just to get rid of that tattered parka."

"Do you think he'd like a new pajama?" Cartman asked, already leading them to a designated store.

"A pajama?" Kyle repeated. "Only chicks wear those, fatass!"

Cartman smirked, but Kyle could not see it. "Oh, I'm sure he'd appreciate it! if he doesn't like it, he can always trade it for something else."

"I guess that's true," Kyle mumbled from behind him. "But is it a good idea to buy it for him in the first place?"

Cartman waved his hand, signaling him not to worry. "It's okay," he said. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

They entered the store and Cartman scanned the articles quickly, his lips curving into a smile as he spotted what he wanted. "We should buy him this one," he declared, pointing at one of the racks and walking towards it. He could sense Kyle frowning behind him.

"That piece of shit?" the Jewish dog asked incredulously, not wanting the cashier to hear. "Striped pajamas are for old people!" he said.

Cartman took it down, nonetheless, and held it in front of Kyle, using him to make sure the size was right. "I think blue fits him," he said.

"Isn't it a bit big?" Kyle asked then, glancing at the tag. "Extra Large?" he asked incredulously. "Cartman, the guy's barely Medium! He's just as scrawny as me!"

Cartman paid him no heed as he walked towards the counter. "He'll trade it if he doesn't like it," he said.

"I'm sure he won't like it!" Kyle argued. "Why don't you buy him a shirt from Zara or something? Why an ugly pajama from a store no one heard of?"

"This is _mah_ money and I'll use it the way _ah_ decide!" Cartman yelled at his companion before turning back to the somewhat frightened cashier with a smile. "I'd like to purchase this," he said, handing him a few bills.

"Uh, of course, sir…" the cashier replied, typing something into the computer and handing him a receipt shortly afterwards. "Do you want to hear about our discounts?" he asked.

"No, not really," Cartman replied as he took the bag. "Are you coming, Kahl?"

Kyle sighed heavily. "Yeah, sure, why not…"

Cartman nodded approvingly and left the store, Kyle in tow. "So do you want to go to my place now, Kahl?"

"Why?" Kyle asked.

"Just… because. We barely hang out!" Cartman explained.

Kyle chuckled. "Because I hate you," he said.

Cartman frowned. "Well, I don't like you that much, either," he replied coldly, "but Stan's away, correct?" Kyle voiced his agreement. "So I think I can keep you amused for awhile."

"I really don't think so, Cartman…"

Cartman turned around, looking at him with the most pleading eyes he was able to muster. "Oh, please, Kahl! My mom's away and I don't want to be left alone! Besides, I have some old material about the Holocaust that may interest you. I forgot I had it"

Kyle cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I guess you _are_ still a mommy's boy," he said. "But only for a short time, I have to get back home and finish our paper."

"Thank you!" Carmtan exclaimed, clasping the Jew's hands in his. "I really appreciate it, Kahl!"

"Uh… sure, whatever," Kyle replied dryly, retrieved his hand back and began walking in the general direction to the exit.

Behind him, Cartman chuckled evilly to himself.

* * *

"Mi casa si casa," Cartman declared once they entered his house, locking the door behind them.

"It's _su_ casa, you idiot," Kyle said, plopping down on the couch. "You have any interesting video games?"

"Sure I do," Cartman replied. "But first," he started, throwing the bag containing his latest purchase at Kyle. "Could you try this on? I want to see if the size is right."

Kyle frowned. "Well, it's wrong!" he declared. "I told you so at the store!"

"Get the sand out of your vagina already," Cartman said. "Don't you know these things shrink when washed?"

"Nothing shrinks this much, fatass!" Kyle argued.

"Oh, hush already," Cartman said, pointing at the staircase. "Go change in my room, I'll prepare a drink for you in the meantime."

Kyle glared up at him, then sighed heavily and took the pajama out of the bag. "Fine," he said exasperatedly and went upstairs without another word.

Cartman followed him with his brown eyes, and when he heard the door to his room being shut he nodded to himself and went to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of Coke and finished it in one gulp, then opened the fridge and took out a glass of water he had prepared in advance.

"See? It's too big!" Cartman jumped slightly as he heard Kyle behind him and turned around, coming face to face with a striped-pajama clad Kyle. His breathing slowed as he felt his blood rushing south at the arousing sight. "Cartman?"

Cartman shook his head quickly. "I-it'll shrink in the laundry, don't worry," he said and put the water on the table. "Here Kahl," he prompted. "Take a sit."

Kyle nodded, annoyed, and sat at the table. "Is this for me?" he asked, pointing at the glass with the transparent liquid. Cartman nodded. "Thanks," the Jewish dog said and took a few gulps, then put the glass down and stared oddly down at it. "You sure it's water?" he asked. "It tastes odd…"

Cartman sat down next to him, looking at him with a content look. "Maybe because it's from the faucet?" he suggested innocently.

Kyle shrugged. "Probably," he agreed and drank some more. Cartman waited in anticipation and yearning until Kyle finished the entire glass.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the faggy Jew asked as he noticed his stare. "Do I have something on my face?"

Cartman blinked. "Uh…yeah, on your… left cheek."

Kyle nodded and scratched his cheek, wiping the nonexistent dirt, and took his hand down heavily. "Oh, man," he said, gripping his head. "I feel really dizzy suddenly…"

"Do you want to lie down?" Cartman asked, cock twitching pleasantly.

"Y-yeah…" Kyle stood up, holding the table in order to support himself, but fell back on the chair as his knees wobbled.

Cartman watched with self-satisfaction as Kyle's eyes widened suddenly in their drooped state as the Jew stared at him in shock, pale with a sudden realization and fear. "Cartman…" he breathed. "Cartman, what the fuck did you put in my drink?" he said, and Cartman chuckled as he realized the stupid Jew was trying to yell, but his voice came out as nothing more than a pathetic bark.

"Nothing," he replied simply, but could hide his smile no longer.

Kyle pushed himself slowly to his feet again, blinked quickly, trying to keep awake, but eventually his body failed him and he fell down on the floor with a loud thud, unconscious.

Cartman crouched next to him and caressed his back slowly, lifting the hem of the pajama shirt and shuddering with pleasure as his hand came in touch with the pale skin beneath it. "My sweet, sweet, Kyle…" he whispered and reached to his pocket with his other hand, pulling out the Star of David he asked his mother to make and laid it on top of the fainted rat.

Now all that was left was to get a black marker and his plan would be complete.

But that could wait, Cartman decided as pulled down his pants and jerked himself off to the arousing sight of the fallen Jew, clad with a striped-pajama, which awfully resembled the uniform Cartman always saw him wear in his dreams.

All of those, who say that dreams do not come true, surely have no idea what they're talking about, Cartman decided as he came with a loud moan, his sperm covering his victim.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note III: **So. Still rooting for Cartman?

Please review!


	8. Prey

**Disclaimer: **South Park is Matt & Trey's, not mine. I'm not profiting out of this story.

**Author's Note I: **First of all, I'd like tot hank you for all your wonderful reviews! I know I don't reply to most – I don't, usually (because in my time that option did not exist, I just got used to it) – but I assure you each and every one of them makes me happy. Heck, the previous chapter got the most. Keep it up! :)

**Author's Note II: **I should warn you that this chapter is a bit… graphic. I would have made it more horrible, but this site would have banned me then XD

I hope that this is alright, although I doubt it…

Not for the sensitive ones, guys. Honestly, _I _felt a bit sick once I finished writing, and I'm the author!

Only one or two more chapters left, we'll see…

**Author's Note III: **Sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes, or incorrect usage of words and phrases; English is not my native tongue.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Eight: Prey

_He recognized this spot. He saw it from afar so many times before, not to mention lived in it for so many years. But even though he knew he was in South Park, something seemed a bit out of place. The painted homes were replaced with long, brown, shacks. All trees and flowers disappeared, replaced with grey gravel, and as he glanced to his left and to his right, he noticed a wired fence surrounding the town (if it could still be called that). He clutched his fist and gulped heavily, suddenly realizing that this was the place he saw in the distance whenever he sat with Kyle on that lush hill. _

_Speaking of which…_

_"Excuse me," he asked a passerby, who then turned to look at him with a cold gaze. Stan found himself at a loss of words for a moment. "I'm looking for my boyf- I mean, my friend."_

_"Well, he isn't here," the stranger replied with a shrug and left before Stan could argue. Stan frowned and wondered briefly, as he noticed the retreating back, why that man was walking around in his pajamas._

_Nobody else was around, so Stan decided to tour the place. He went in the direction of his old elementary school, or at least, what he thought it to be. Every shack looked the same as the other, and he begun to doubt that he was really in South Park, or the fact that he was going anywhere and not remaining in the same place. It looked more like a ghost town, this area, with the foreboding silence and grey atmosphere. _

_Another pajama-clad man…_

_"Excuse me," he tried again, his brow furrowing as he noticed the striking similarity between the two strangers, this one and the one he met before, with their thin appearance and nearly-bald head. "Have you seen Kyle Broflovski?" he asked._

_"Keep it down, kid," the man warned. "They'll hit you if you speak too loud." Then, after providing him with that warning, he, too, turned around and left._

_What the hell was going on…?_

_He felt cold suddenly, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the weather or because he was suddenly left alone in a place he wasn't so sure was his hometown anymore. The only sound that reached his ears was his sneakers making contact with the small rocks under his feet, and when suddenly he was able to hear his pulse, his breathing quickened and fear engulfed him. He had to find Kyle…_

_"Excuse me!" this time he cried, his voice cracking, as he approached another pajama-clone. "I'm looking for my frie-" and before he could finish the sentence, the stranger's eyes narrowed in anger and he grabbed Stan by the arm, forcing him to turn around and look at a large chimney. _

_"You see this?" the man asked, voice void of emotion as he pointed at the towering black smoke, the one which Stan remembered spotting in the few times he spent with Kyle on that lovely, green hill. "This is where your friend is."_

_Beep_ beep!

Stan woke up with a start and sat up quickly, body drenched with sweat and breathing coming out in short puffs as he tried desperately to calm his racing heart. He wasn't sure he liked the new and dreadful turn his dreams got.

Kyle…

He was lying on a mattress in his cousins' living room, and from the silence he concluded that his parents still did not return from their night-out. The clock struck one.

With a big gulp of air Stan rested his forehead on the back of his hand, closing his tired eyes. When he opened them again he glanced at his cell phone, to which he was grateful, for it woke him up. He picked it up from the wooden floor and gazed at it, not quite registering what was being displayed on the screen.

When his heart-rate finally returned to a normal pace he clicked a couple of buttons, and a small smile spread on his face as he saw that he got a new text message from Kyle. "Hey dude," it read. "how are you doin?"

He pressed 'reply'. "Fine," he typed in. "bored as hell without u around. Why didn't u answer my call earlier?"

"my cell is giving me problems," was the reply from his Jewish boyfriend. "I should get it fixd."

Stan pressed his thumb to the screen, caressing it slowly, as if hoping that through that action he'd be able to touch the pale skin he so longed to make contact with. However, - and he was not surprised -, the smooth surface of his cell phone's screen was the only thing that greeted his fingers and he hung his head in shame.

At least Kyle seemed to be alright, even if his spelling was unusually a bit off. There is no reason to worry over that dream, he decided as he lay back down and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and trying to calm his aching nerves. But no matter how hard he tried, that foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to disappear even as sleep engulfed him.

* * *

Oh, dear god, he was so turned on.

It really took all he had to not just reach down and jack off again at the arousing sight in front of him.

After covering Kyle's lower back with his semen, Eric Cartman proceeded to get a black marker from his drawer and decorate the yellow Stan of David his mother made for him. He traced the straight ends in black, and when he was pleased with the outcome, he wrote the word "Juden" in the middle. Then, having no talent or interest in sewing, he took a stapler and attached the newly made piece of historic artwork to the striped pajama that Kyle wore.

When Cartman was ten, he thought that joining the scouts was a waste of time. However, his mother insisted that he'd enroll, for she was a tad worried about his social condition. Of course, it did not get better during that miserable year he spent with all the faggy kids from his town, but as Cartman took the rope from their garage he had to admit that perhaps his time there was not spent for nothing.

Kyle was still unconscious, probably dreaming about his dear faggot, while Cartman worked skillfully on his arms and legs. One, two, three… reinforce the knot here, tighten the knot there… done.

He stood up and nodded to himself, pleased with the work he'd done on the fallen figure on his kitchen's floor, but then he frowned and cocked his head to this left as he figured that something was still missing. The weight issue would probably not be solved, he figured - that is why he bought that huge pajama in the first place – but still, there was something not quite… right.

Ah, of course.

Cartman smirked to himself and took a pair of scissors from the counter. He could not help but jerk his hips as he cut Kyle's red curls, pulling at them, imagining how if Kyle was awake he would scream out in pain. His hair felt so good between Cartman's fingers, red and fiery like the Jewish blood that ran in his veins and contaminated him forever.

When he was finally done, he realized that Kyle still didn't look like he did in his dreams, but really, there was not much else he could do. After all, how much weight would he be able to lose in a week?

He dragged his new prisoner to his basement then and simply sat by the wall and watched his sleeping figure, waiting for him to wake up so his victim would be able to feel the revenge planned for him fully.

Kyle indeed woke up several hours later – Cartman was not so sure – his eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly as he tried to focus his vision.

"Good morning, Kahl," Cartman greeted, approaching him and crouching down, running his fingers on the nearly bald head.

"Wha-?" Kyle mumbled, still unfocused, still blurry.

Cartman clicked his tongue and lowered his head in order to press a kiss to Kyle's forehead, licking it before straightening up again. "How are you doing this fine evening?" he asked.

"Cartman," Kyle breathed, his eyes now fully open, yet it seemed like he still didn't quite realize his position or current whereabouts.

Cartman frowned. This was going much too slowly for his taste; he needed release _now_.

He proceeded to slap Kyle, and then kick him in the abdomen.

Kyle wheezed, eyes widening, and when he tried to hold his aching spots he paled, apparently realizing that there was something restraining his arms. "Cart…man…" he breathed again in a forced whisper, barely able to sound coherent.

"Good morning, my dearest Kahl," Cartman repeated, caressing the pale face below him. "Feeling any better?"

"What the _fuck_ did you do, Cartman?" Kyle asked, trying to sound forceful, authoritative, but once again, only managing a pathetic bark. He coughed miserably then, turning his head to the side out of habit as much as he could.

"A little makeover, is all," Cartman replied, stroking Kyle's cheek slowly. "You're so beautiful now, Kahl. I don't think I'd be able to hold back," he finished.

"What do you mean?" Kyle, ever the naïve, asked.

"You tell me," was the simple reply as Cartman pulled down his pants and presented his glorious erection to his victim.

Kyle's eyes widened again as the realization dawned into him. "No," he whispered, unbelieving, trying to move farther back, but not succeeding. "You wouldn't…"

"Do you want to bet, Kahl?" Cartman challenged, then crouched down and poked Kyle's cheek with his organ, moaning. "I always win my bets." He smirked as a greenish tint appeared on Kyle's cheeks.

"You sick bastard!" Kyle cried, voice shaking horribly. "You won't get away with this!"

Cratman chuckled evilly as he stroked himself slowly. "I know," he replied, "but until then…" Then he forcefully held Kyle's cheeks and pulled them backwards in order to force Kyle's mouth open. "You can suck my big, fat, dick, Kahl."

Cartman grunted in pleasure as Kyle made a gagging sound from the back of his throat, his eyes closing as that green color on his face grew darker. Cartman pulled back and forth, not caring if he was choking Kyle in the process. "Yesssss…" he hissed, throwing his head back as he relished on the feeling. "That's it, you Jewish slut, suck it like it's Stan's."

That comment, apparently, caused Kyle to decide to struggle back, for a second afterwards Cartman felt teeth digging into his sensitive flesh. He yelped in pain and withdrew quickly, eyes narrowing dangerously as he took note of the red teeth marks the Jewish dog's little stunt had left.

"You fucking _Jew rat_!" he hollered, furious. Kyle looked up at him, glaring, but Cartman knew that behind his glare he was merely a frightened dog. "You're going to pay for this," he warned and slapped him again, harder than last time. Kyle yelped in pain and Cartman took it as a sign to turn him over so he was lying helplessly on his stomach.

"No!" Kyle pleaded as the pajama pants were pulled down. "Cartma – Eric, _please._"

"Shut. Up," Cartman threatened, stroking his dick, preparing. He slapped Kyle's buttocks, grunted, and penetrated without warning.

Kyle cried out in pain and Cartman was sure he'd come, but as no semen came out he proceeded to pull out and back in, once again taking pleasure of the feeling and Kyle's cries of pain. "God yes," he moaned, closing his eyes. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this…" The only answer he received was Kyle's pained screams and whimpers as he tried to move away, but with no success.

It didn't take long for him to come, and Cartman released his semen with a long, low, moan. He pulled out, Kyle's pitiful cries causing a headache to form, and when he looked down with content he frowned as he noticed the brown smudges that now joined the red teeth marks from before.

"You fucking Jew," he hissed and kicked his prey, gritting his teeth. "What is the meaning of this!" he demanded and stood up, crouching again in front of Kyle face and holding his organ for him to see. "Do you think this is funny, you goddamned Jew?" he slapped him again, the other cheek this time, his fingers taking note of the salty tears that stained the pale, greenish cheeks. "Now I'm all dirty!" He slapped him once more, and Kyle's sobs turned silent.

"You're not taking this well, are you? what, Stan never rode your tight, little, ass?" Cartman was barely able to spot Kyle shaking his head slowly. "Stupid Jew!" he screamed, stood up, and kicked Kyle's tied legs. "Are you telling me you were on top, you little whore?" kick. "Jews _can't_ top! They can only _bottom!_" kick.

Bottom…

Cartman smirked, bent down, and stroked what was left of Kyle's hair as he realized that maybe he could get a few more days with his prey. "I'll be back soon," he cooed, stood up, and turned to walk away.

As he stood at the top of the staircase, hand already on the doorknob, he laughed menacingly as he turned around and spotted Kyle, bruised and scarred, looking down shakily at the yellow Star of David on his chest. Then he looked up again, frightened. Cartman's cock twitched and he closed the door behind him, his ears picking up the faint sound of retching.

* * *

He returned to the basement a couple of hours later, a glass of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in hand. Kyle looked up at him, his entire body shaking slightly as he tried to curl into himself unsuccessfully. "Don't be scared, Kahl," Cartman said, crouching down in front of him and caressing the red remnants on his scalp. "I won't do anything… for now," he continued, chuckling to himself and taking immense pleasure at the sight of a frightened dog in front of him. "I brought you some food. You know, we don't want you passing out from exhaustion."

"Fuck you," the Jewish dog barked back, hissing. "The last drink was drugged, why the fuck should I drink anything more you give me?" he asked, voice shaking more and more as it rose in volume.

Cartman smirked to himself, regretting the fact that the red curls were now missing so he was not able to pull at them. The stench of puke reached his nostrils then and his smirk turned into a frown. Stupid, sissy, Jewish dog…

"I already have you tied and helpless," Cartman whispered, noticing how Kyle's shivers became more apparent suddenly. "There is no reason for me to drug you again," he elaborated. "I already did you when you were conscious, and trust me, it was much more pleasurable…" he stroked his prey's cheek then, smiling evilly to himself as he noticed the new tears which appeared in the corners of the Jew's eyes. "I can't wait till next time…" He slapped his cheek lightly, almost playfully, teasing, abusing. "Now drink," he said, or rather commanded, as he pushed the glass under the Jew's nose. When Kyle turned his head away, Cartman creased his brow, slapped Kyle harder, and forced his mouth open.

Cartman was very pleased with himself when he saw that Kyle's Adam's apple went up and down as he swallowed the liquid unwillingly, and then took the sandwich he held and forced it into the Jew's mouth. "Good dog," he said quietly, encouraging. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

But then, as Cartman tried to force another sip down his prey's mouth, the Jew sputtered and coughed violently, doubling into a fetal position. "Fuck you," he managed between coughs.

"No. Fuck _you_," Cartman replied, slapped, and forced the rest of the liquid into Kyle's dry, stinky, mouth and down his throat.

Once he was sure that whatever didn't leak out was safely swallowed, Eric Cartman allowed himself to sit back and watch his victim with barely contained anticipation.

He was positive that Kyle realized he was drugged once again, if his pale face and the worsening of his shivers was any indication, but the Jew made no sound of protest as his eyes finally shut and his tense body slumped, and Cartman figured he was probably hoping to wake up only when this ordeal would be over.

He was in for some disappointment, then…

He waited for a few more minutes and then stood up, kicked the mock prisoner once or twice, just to make sure he won't wake up, and then lifted his prone figure from the ground and commenced carrying him upstairs and into his mother's garage.

He always disliked the Honda his mother owned, but now he was thankful for it, and for the fact that he managed to persuade his mother against taking the car with her to the conference she was attending. He opened the trunk and threw the goddamned Jew and a bag he prepared ahead in, closed it, and opened the side door in order to sit in the driver's seat.

During the drive to Stark's Pond he listened to a few hip-hop songs on the radio which grated his ears and he turned it off, deciding that the sound of the engine was soothing enough.

When he parked the car on the asphalt court he remained sitting for a few more minutes, surveying the area with his brown, plotting eyes and making sure no one else was around. Once he was positive that no one but himself and the object of his burning desires was in the area, he nodded to himself, content, and stepped out of the car.

Stupid Kyle was somewhat heavy, he concluded as the trudged through the remnants of snow, flashlight in hand, walking east.

One hundred ninety eight, one hundred ninety nine…. He let Kyle drop from his tired hands, not caring if he would get hurt in the process, and crouched down.

Beneath his feet was indeed a wooden door, which oddly resembled a cellar one. He pulled it upwards and turned his head away once numerous specks of dust greeted him. "Fucking hell," he cursed, took a small rock from the ground and threw it into the hole in the ground in order to measure its depth.

Apparently, the pit that Butters told him about was not so deep – probably 11.5 feet, if his measurements were correct – but he figured that that is enough. After all, it's not like Kyle would be able to get out, and it's not like anyone but Butters knew about this spot.

And no one would turn to Butters and ask him about Kyle's mysterious disappearance.

There was a small rope-ladder on the ground, which was probably left there in order to allow for Butters' parents, or the faggy blond himself, to climb in and out.

Cartman dragged Kyle on the muddy earth and lowered him into the pit, spending the next couple of hours sitting on the edge and breathing in the crisp night air.

When he heard the worthless piece of Jewish flesh moaning from inside the pit he threw the rope-ladder in and climbed down, frowning as he realized that the pit could just barely contain two adults.

Kyle's eyes fluttered open slowly and he tried blinking his daze away. Cartman hovered above him, licking his lips in anticipation. "Morning, Jew," he greeted. "Welcome to your temporary home."

Kyle merely blinked at his words, not giving any further reply to his captor's comment.

"I have a surprise for you," Cartman said and took out a plastic bottle, an enema, from the small bag he brought with him. "We don't want me getting dirty again, do we?" he asked as he dangled the plastic bottle in front of Kyle's slowly widening eyes. "You know what this is, don't you? I'm sure you used it before…" oh, fuck, he was so goddamned turned on. "Before going to see your proctologist and all. Just try thinking of me as your doctor, Kahl," he finished and pushed a teary-eyed Kyle on his stomach, pulled down the mud-dirty pajama pants (his prey's look became much more credible now) and pushed the tip of the enema in, pressing and releasing the liquid into his victim's rectum and up his bowels. He could hear Kyle gritting his teeth, watched as he arched his back, trying to get away, but as all of his previous struggles, this one proved to be futile as well.

"There, there now," Cartman soothed as the bottle was emptied and slapped Kyle's buttocks playfully, pinching the pale skin and moaning as his pants grew increasingly tight.

"You'll pay for this, you fucking fatass," The Jew threatened, or at least tried to, as Cartman caressed his back slowly, encouraging the liquid to work.

"I know," Cartman replied, smiling, and inserted his index finger, closing his eyes with pleasure. "Look how tight you are, you slut. Come on poop, come on out…"

Rub, rub.

And it did. About fifteen minutes later, despite the fact that Kyle tried to hold it back, it came out and wetted and dirtied whatever was beneath Kyle's groin as he sobbed miserably, cursing his captor between pathetic whimpers.

"Good dog," Cartman said as Kyle finished, took out a bottle of water and piece of cotton wool from the bag and proceeded to clean Kyle's behind. "Good dog," he repeated, more quietly this time, threw the used piece of cotton wool to the side and pulled down his own pants, stroked himself for a few seconds, and penetrated.

Kyle screamed.

It was over in a few minutes, and Cartman sighed happily as he pulled out and climbed out of the pit. He looked down one last time before closing the wooden door, smirking at the Jew below as he watched how he choked on his own sobs while swimming in his own excrement and throwing up whatever food was left in his stomach.

The stench reached Cartman's nostrils and he smiled evilly. The smell of Auschwitz.

"Arbeit macht frei, Kahl," he said, not caring whether his victim heard him or not, and closed the door.

Cartman came back there three more times that night.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note IV: **Please, leave a review! Think we can get to hundred?


	9. Running

**Disclaimer: **I do not own South Park nor its characters. I do not earn money from this story, and I'm writing it just for fun.

**Author's Note I: **Once again, thank you for the wonderful reviews! Do keep it up! I hope I didn't deter any readers because of the horrors of last chapter… you know, the original idea was for it to be a one-shot, but then I said I didn't want Kyle raped, and turned it into a chaptered story. Heh, look where that led me…

I'm sorry, I really don't see mutual CartmanKyle…

**Author's Note II: **Sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native tongue, and I may have missed some mistakes when I proof-read this chapter...

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Nine: Running

The moist air caused him to cough and sneeze, but he did not mind this fact as he felt shivers run down his spine as his fingers made contact with the dirty skin beneath him, noting the even harsher shivers of fear from the prisoner. He smirked and scratched his crotch, moaning quietly at the pleasure that act gave him. "You're so beautiful," he whispered to the redhead Jewish dog, caressing his cheek slowly and then inserting his index finger forcefully into the prisoner's mouth. "Suck on it, you fucking Jew," he hissed and pushed his fingers deeper, his smile widening as the Jew gagged and shut his eyes tightly. "I thought you liked sucking…"

His brown Nazi uniform were very uncomfortable on his skin and made him itch, but he, the abuser, did not mind it as he kept on enjoying the weak tongue, which licked his fingers unwillingly. The Swastika on his right arm was barely visible in the darkness of the night, but he made sure that his prisoner would be able to see it whenever he opened his eyes. "I think you like it, you stupid Jew," he whispered and pulled out his finger, licking it slowly. Then, deciding that the indirect kiss was not enough, he, the abuser, leaned down and forced his lips on the pair of the half-bald Jew beneath him.

Nobody knew they were there, nobody would disturb them. He had the Jewish prisoner all to himself, and he had no idea what to do first in order to satisfy his throbbing erection. Should he make his prisoner give him a head? Should he just fuck him right there and then and not bother with troublesome foreplay? Ah, so many options…

"Where do you want my cock first, Jew?" he asked his prisoner instead of deciding by himself. The striped-uniform clad Jewish male did not respond, and he, the abuser, frowned deeply. "You know, I could kill you," he said and slapped his prisoner. Still no response. He slapped him again, on the other cheek this time. Then his prisoner opened his mouth slightly, preparing to say something, but he, the abuser, cut him off before he uttered a single syllable. "Ah, excellent choice, Jew! Your mouth!" his prisoner paled, which only caused his abuser's erection to pulsate, and moments later it was in his mouth, causing him to gag yet again.

The abuser pushed back and forth, his moans growing louder as he neared his climax, but he pulled out before he came. "I love your tight ass," he said, and forced his prisoner to lie on his stomach on the moist mud below him. He, the abuser, pushed his cock inside, his prisoner's stifled screams like music to his ears. He pushed back and forth a few times more, slapping the dirty ass a few times, and then he came with a loud moan, nearly screaming.

That was the best time so far…

He pulled out and stood up, dusting off his Nazi uniform and frowning as he realized it was a bit dirty with mud. He kicked his prisoner, who still did not utter a single word. "This is my favorite set!" he cried. "Now it's ruined!"

"Eri-" his prisoner tried to say, voice weak and cracking.

"Uh-uh!" he, the abuser, cut him off again. "A lowly Jew like yourself is not allowed to call me by my first name!" he held his chin in thought then, trying to come up with a better option. "I know!" he said, voice high-pitched, as if he got theidea just then. "'Mein Fuehrer' would be lovely."

His prisoner's eyes widened. "But you're not-," he tried.

"_Shut up!_" he, the abuser, screamed and kicked his prisoner again. "You are in no position to make decisions!"

His prisoner no longer cried in front of him, and he, the abuser, thought that it was really too bad…

He's ought to teach that stupid Jew a lesson for trying to act brave.

His prisoner's screams filled the still air of the night as he, the abuser, made sure to make each spot in his body ache from beating or forced submission.

* * *

The first thing that Kenny McCormick purchased for himself when he saved enough money from various part-time jobs was a new cell-phone (new for him; it was second hand). This, he figured, was the first step of disconnecting himself from his family. He ordered all of his friends to _always_ call his cellular number, and if they called his home, they were subjected to a certain amount of yelling.

Kenny rarely used his cellular device to make calls. When he wasn't in school, he was working until late, and thus barely had any free time to even glance at his cell and see if he missed any calls.

That Tuesday night was no different, and as Kenny walked out of the small, smelly diner he was washing dishes in, he spared a glance on his cell-phone screen, just to see what the time was, when he noticed he had five missed calls. He frowned. Nobody calls him this much; everyone knows he's a busy man.

He checked the list, his frown deepening as he saw that all of the five missed calls were from "Kyle –home". Why would Kyle call him so many times, and from his house, no less?

It was nearing midnight, so Kenny decided to dial Kyle's cell-phone instead of his house. Instead of Kyle's voice, however, a female, automatic voice answered and informed his that this number could not be reached. Kenny sighed deeply, guessing that the redhead was already in bed (whether it was his or Stan's, he didn't know nor wanted to find out) and kept on walking down the street.

Kenny noticed a few patrol cars driving through the town, and he got a foreboding feeling at the pit of his stomach. Something was going on, and suddenly he had a strong urge to find out just what. Something was telling him that he _had_ to know.

"Excuse me," he said as he approached an officer, who was leaning on a bookstore's wall and smoking a cigarette. The officer eyes his suspiciously. "Er…" the blond started, suddenly finding himself at a loss of words. "There… seems to be a lot of commotion around here. Did… anything happen?"

"Some kid from your town went missing," the officer said, taking another drag out of his cigarette and blowing it out slowly. "Two days ago," the uniformed man continued and searched his pocket for something. "We can't find any clues, but…." the officer took out a picture from his pocket and presented it to Kenny, who then paled considerably. "The redhead kid," the officer said, pointing at the photographed Jew, who was smiling broadly as his best friend stood next to him. Kenny wondered briefly when this picture was taken, before or after his two friends found out how they felt for each other, but that thought disappeared quickly as worry flooded his mind. "Did you see him?" the officer asked, probably noticing his reaction.

Kenny shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "N-no… I… his… Kyle, it's my friend… oh God," he smacked his forehead and closed his eyes, confused. Suddenly he realized that Kyle never called him in the first place: it was one of his parents.

The officer patted him on his shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. We'll find him. Probably had a fight with his parents and ran off somewhere."

_No_, Kenny thought inwardly. _He would never do that…_

"Thank you," Kenny said, smiling politely up at the officer before walking away, shaking slightly. He took out his cell-phone again and with trembling fingers dialed Kyle's home. His mother picked up after two rings, her voice dreadful and hopeful at the same time. "Hi, Mrs. Broflovski. It's-"

"Kenny! Oh, thank God!" she said, a certain relief in her voice. "Gerald!" he heard her call. "Gerald, it's Kenny!" then he heard the muffled voice of Kyle's father in the background, but he could not decipher what was said.

"I heard that Kyle… disappeared," Kenny said quietly, unsure as to what to say to the obviously distraught middle-aged woman.

"Yes, yes… he went to meet with that Cartman kid and never came back," Kenny's hold on his cell-phone tightened. "I called Eric, but he said he had no idea where he is, said he waited for hours but Kyle did not show up… and Stan's on vacation, I don't want to bother him. Oh, Kenny, do you know where he is? There's no way he's with Stan, is there? I would have known by now! Oh, Kenny, I'm so worried…"

"No, I… I'm sorry, Mrs. Broflovski, I don't know where he's at. I… I had no idea he was missing up until now. I'll help look for him tomorrow, first thing in the morning! I'll take a day-off for that…"

"Oh, no, Kenny, I don't want you to put your job at risk! The Police is handling this…" the redheaded woman replied, but he could tell she was only saying that to be polite.

"Don't worry, it's their problem if they choose to fire me. Kyle is much more important right now," he said and smiled, hoping that even though she could not see it, it would help reassure her.

"Oh, thank you so much, Kenny! We appreciate it! Please, don't hesitate to call us even in the middle of the night if you find him!"

Kenny nodded. "Of course. You have my word, Mrs. Broflovski. Good night!"

"Thank you, Kenny! Good night!" she hung up, and Kenny, a smile still on his face, stared for a long while at his cell-phone screen. His smile twitched slowly as worry and fear engulfed him once again, more evident this time around. That bastard Cartman… something told Kenny that the fatass knew _exactly_ what was going on. Heck, he probably caused it!

Kenny gritted his teeth in anger, his hold on the electronic device tightening as his forehead creased with anger. He will make Cartman confess no matter what.

* * *

Eric Cartman opened the door after five rings of doorbell, looking tired. His brown hair was disheveled and his eyes were barely open, blinking rapidly as he was blinded by the sunlight and the snow. "Can I come in?" Kenny asked, realizing that his voice held a tone of urgency that he tried to avoid. After many years of knowing the manipulative boy, Kenny knew that normal methods did not work with him. In fact, any method at all did not work on him. Eric Cartman was the kind of guy who would help you only if he needed something or gained something out if it. And if he had Kyle, then he would not confess about it easily.

"What do you want, poor boy?" Cartman asked him, frowning.

"I need to ask you something," Kenny replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then ask," Cartman said. "Hurry, I don't have much time to waste."

"Inside," Kenny said through gritted teeth, already annoyed at the fat boy's antics.

Cartman chuckled. "Why the fuck do you think I'd let you in, Kenneh? You'll infect my house with poor germs."

Kenny released a sound that oddly sounded like a low growl from the back of his throat and pushed Cartman, entered the house and closed the front door behind him. Cartman looked at him, anger written all over his face.

"My, Kenneh," the fat boy said. "Where are your manners?"

"I don't have time for this, Cartman," Kenny said, opting not to sit down on the couch and remain standing. Then, without beating around the bush, he asked "Where is Kyle?"

Cartman laughed heartily. "Oh, he's missing, isn't he? Yes, his mother called me. Why the hell do you think I'd know his whereabouts?"

"If you ask me," Kenny said, "it's because _you_ have something to do with it!"

Cartman shook his head slowly and closed his eyes, clicking his tongue a few times. "Tsk tsk tsk, Kenneh, Kenneh, Kenneh…" he started and opened his eyes, smiling at the blond. "Why would _I_ have anything to do with it?"

Kenny huffed. "Because of the history you have with making people disappear?" he suggested sarcastically.

Cartman held in chin, as if in deep thought. "Yes, that might be true…" he said. "But I assure you, this time I have nothing to do with it. Do you remember the time Kyle went to that hippies' city, San Francisco?" he asked.

Kenny blinked dumbly a few times and nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah…"

"Who do you think brought him back?"

Kenny's eyes widened. "Don't tell me… why the fuck would you do that?"

Cartman shrugged and plopped down on the couch, sighing happily. "I realized, as Stan said," Kenny noted vaguely that the fat boy's brown eyes narrowed as he mentioned the raven-haired boy's name, "that my life is empty and meaningless without Kyle around to rip on. Why would I make him leave, then?" he asked, looking up innocently at Kenny.

"You probably keep him somewhere…" Kenny said, narrowing his eyes and glaring at his classmate.

Cartman cocked an eyebrow at him. "And where would that be? Stan's uncle destroyed his shelter after that Butters incident…"

"I…" Kenny started, trying to think of anywhere else that could be used as a hiding spot. Then he realized something. "Where's your mom?"

"At some gay conference, dunno where…"  
"Show me your basement," Kenny said, or rather commanded.

"Why?"

"Just do it, fatass!"

Cartman sighed heavily and stood up. "Fine…" he said. "But you'll find nothing there."

And indeed, as Kenny followed the fat boy down the stairs, he realized that beside a certain amount of mess and dust, the basement was empty. "You weren't lying…" Kenny said quietly, unbelieving.

"Of course," Cartman said from behind him. "Now would you mind going home? I barely had any sleep last night, you woke me up."

"Uh… yeah, sure," Kenny said and turned around, blanching as he picked up the faint smell of puke on his way up the stairs. When he was already standing outside on the front porch, he turned around again and held the door, preventing Cartman from closing it.

"What now, Kenneh?" Cartman asked, exasperated.

"Tell me if you find out anything," Kenny said.

Cartman blinked. "Yeah, sure." He was about to push the door close again, But Kenny still wouldn't let him. "What?" Cartman hissed, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

Kenny frowned. There was something… "do you know where Stan is?" he asked.

Cartman's eyes narrowed dangerously and he pursed his lips in anger. "Not a clue as to where that faggot went to," he said and slammed the door shut, nearly cutting one of Kenny's fingers off.

The blond boy remained standing on the porch, blinking dumbly at the door before him as he heard Eric Cartman locking it.

Something was indeed off with the boy…

Kenny walked down the street with his hand stuffed deep inside the pockets of his coat as he was deep in thought. Cartman was acting a bit weird, even for him, and Kenny had a hunch that Stan would have an idea as to why. He took out his cell phone and called the raven haired boy, not caring if he was still sleeping or whatever. Stan answered rather quickly, and from the noise in the background Kenny guessed he was riding in a car. "Hey Stan," Kenny greeted, trying to sound as cheerful as he could so Stan would not worry right away. "What's up?"

"Okay," Stan replied, and Kenny assumed he sounded a bit tense because he was in the company of his parents and big sister.

"How is the vacation?" Kenny tried.

"Fine," was the simple reply.

Kenny sighed heavily. "Listen, Stan…" he said and stopped mid-sentence, trying to organize his thoughts. "There's something you have to know." In the background, Kenny heard doors opening.

"What?" Stan asked, then called "dad! I'll be right there, okay? I have an important phone call!"

In spite of himself, Kenny chuckled as he heard Randy Marsh lecture his son, and then guessed Stan waved him off. "Sorry, Kenny," he finally said. "Now I'm all ears."

Kenny laughed, but his laughter soon died down. "Yeah… Stan, listen. Kyle… Kyle's missing."

A pause. "…What? Stop messing around, Kenny, April's Fools was weeks ago!"

"I'm not joking," Kenny said simply as he sat on a nearby bench, cringing as it froze his behind.

"Yes you are," Stan said forcefully.

"I would never joke about that!" Kenny argued back, leaning forward.

"Then why is he replying to my text messages?" Stan asked him.

Kenny was taken aback at this revelation. "…what?" he breathed, disbelieving.

"He replies to my text messages," Stan repeated.

Kenny frowned. "And your calls?" he asked.

"Oh, uh… he said his phone is not receiving calls for some reason…"

Kenny was silent for a moment, re-gathering his thoughts. "Are you sure it's him replying? Was there anything weird about his messages?"

"No, he- wait… his spelling was sometimes a bit off, yeah. It's not very Kyle-like, but why would it be-"

"It's not him, Stan," Kenny said quietly, the severity of the situation hitting him like a rock to the face. "Kyle's been missing for four days now," he said.

From the other end, Kenny could hear Stan gulping. "Stop joking, Kenny," Stan said, but to the blond it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

"I already told you I'm not."

"But-" Stan tried, but did not utter another word. "Where… why…"

Kenny sighed. Stan was probably _really_ confused right now. "Stan," the blond started, "did… something happen between you and Cartman?"

Again, a pause. "… No… no, why?"

Kenny sighed. He guessed as much. "Because he seemed rather angry whenever your name was mentioned," he explained. "Are you sure nothing happened, Stan? You sound like you're hiding something."

"…why would I hide a fight with Cartman?" Stan asked him quietly.

"I don't know, you tell me!"

"Well, there's nothing I'm hiding, and what the fuck does it has to do with Kyle's disappearance!" Stan cried, voice becoming high-pitched with worry.

Kenny sighed again. "Stan…" he closed his blue eyes, wondering if he should really tell him what he was about to. "I know… I know about you… and Kyle…"

"…what about me and Kyle?" Stan asked, and Kenny had to strain his ears in order to hear him properly.

"About you two… being together."

"We're not-"

"Stop it, Stan. I know. I saw you, and I don't mind. In fact, I'm rather pleased to see that you finally got together after _years_ of undressing each other with your eyes, okay? Now, what happened between you and Cartman?"

From the other end of the line, Stan sighed. "He… he has a thing for Kyle, too…" Kenny's heart skipped a beat. How could he have missed it? "and…" Stan continued, "We had a bet… he said he'd get to Kyle before I do… obviously I won. But… Carman saw us the other day, having… you know…"

"Sex?" Kenny suggested, imagining how Stan blushed at that.

"Yeah. He looked rather angry." Suddenly Stan took a sharp intake of breath. "Kenny… Kenny, did Cartman do anything?"

"I don't know, I think-"

"He did, didn't he? That son of a fucking bitch! Oh my God, Kenny, what happened to Kyle?" Stan voice cracked as he rambled on, and Kenny had to yell in order to shut him up.

"Stan," he said forcefully once Stan calmed down enough to be silent. "When are you getting back?"

"I was supposed to stay here until Saturday, but I'll get on the first bus out of here! I'm two states away, bur I can be in South Park… tomorrow afternoon!"

"No, Stan, you don't have to-"

"No!" Stan argued back. "There's no way I can stay here when Kyle's missing! I… I'm lost without him Kenny, it was hard enough being here the past few days _without_ knowing what happened! Bye Kenny, I have to go and see how the hell I'm getting out of here! I'm sure my parents will understand!" then he promptly hung up, leaving Kenny to Stare dumbly at his cell-phone.

* * *

Stan indeed arrived at South Park on Thursday afternoon, disheveled, deprived of sleep, and immensely worried. As he got down from the bus his legs carried him instinctively in the direction of Kyle's house, but then he figured his mother would shower him with questions he held no answer to, so he turned around and walked in the other direction: to Kenny's house.

Kenny did not invite him inside once he opened the half-broken door to his house. Instead, he stepped outside, took Stan's hand and led him to the better part of town. "I have a plan," Kenny said. "We'll ask everyone in town, surely, one of them _knows_ something!"

"Didn't the police already do that?" Stan asked quietly from behind him.

Kenny shook his head. "You know the county's Police Force, Stan. They are highly incompetent. It's better if we do it ourselves." Stan did not object, and thus he and Kenny knocked on every door, asked every housewife and schoolmate, until the hour was getting late and the sun began to set.

"Let's check the next house!" Stan said, already dragging Kenny down the street and away from the last family they questioned. Stan barely talked during their private investigation, but he was always the one to pull Kenny to the next target and knock on the door. He did not trust himself to say a sensible sentence at his current state.

"Alright," Kenny said. "But then we'll take a short break, I have to eat something…"

Stan nodded, and as he knocked on the door, he realized this house belonged to Butters' family.

"Ah, hello fellas!" Butters greeted them cheerfully. "W-what are you doing here?"

"We came to ask you something," Kenny said.

"W-why sure! You can ask me a-anything!" the stuttering boy said, shifting his wait from one foot to the other.

"Do you know about Kyle being missing?" Kenny asked.

Butters nodded. "Y-yeah, my parents told me the other day," he said.

"Did you see him, perhaps? Or Cartman with him, maybe?"

Butters shook his head slowly, and Stan's shoulders slumped. "No, I-I'm sorry, fellas. I have no idea. B-but I wouldn't worry if I were y-you," he said.

Stan frowned. "No? Why?" he asked quietly.

"W-well, maybe his parents sent him somewhere. L-like my parents, when they used to put me in that pit when I was a b-bad boy… sometimes I stayed there f-for days."

Stan felt Kenny tug at his sleeve, urging him to go away, probably somewhat creeped out by the blond boy's antics. Stan smacked his hand away.

"Okay, Butters, than-" Kenny started, but Stan lifted his hand suddenly, signaling for him to shut up.

"Butters," Stan breathed, his eyes wide. "Is… does Cartman know about this pit?"

Butters nodded. "Yeah, I told him about it a-awhile ago…"

"Fuck…" Stan muttered.

"Where is it?" Kenny asked, paling as he realized Stan's train of thought.

"Two hundred steps east of Stark's Pond," Butters replied.

Kenny offered the blond his thanks as Stan turned around and darted towards the pond, falling once on the snow-covered pavement, and then getting up and running even faster than before. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he ran, not obeying Kenny's pleas, which asked him to slow down. No, he refused to run slower. He had to get to Kyle before it was too late…

Stan violently pushed away that thought in the back of his mind which told him that, in fact, it was too late the moment he let Kyle out of his reach.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Author's Note III: **I'm sorry if this chapter sucked, but please, feel free to review! Also, there's a silly poll in my profile, check it out!


	10. The Finish Line

**Disclaimer**: I do not own South Park nor its characters. I wrote this story just for fun, and I am not making any profit out of it.

**Author's Note I: **So here it is. The final chapter. I feel a bit sad that this story ended, you know? Even though I'm not sure about this chapter… something about it seems… I don't know, like I ruined the flow of the story, maybe?

I knew how to start it and how to end it, but the middle… I'll let you judge.

**Author's Note II: **Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

* * *

**The Chase**

Chapter Ten: The Finish Line

One hundred and ten, one hundred eleven, one hundred twelve…

He breathed with much difficulty as his legs carried him east, the thin layer of snow beneath his feet slippery and wet, but Stan did not give up even when he tripped and fell. He took a deep breath, stood up, and kept on running forward. All the while the face of his love, his best friend, flashed through his mind and caused the lump that formed in his throat to grow bigger and nearly choke him. His breath came out in loud wheezes as he finally reached his destination.

He fell to his knees next to what seemed like a wooden door and wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, catching some much needed breath. The lump in his throat grew smaller and smaller as more oxygen filled his lungs, and in his great thirst he took a handful of white snow from the ground and pushed it into his mouth, desperate for some water. He could vaguely hear Kenny's voice calling for him in the distance, but he did not spare a mere glance at his blond friend as he grabbed the handle and lifted the wooden door.

A horrible stench reached his nostrils the moment the door was lifted, and he turned his head to the side as bile rose up his throat and threatened to spew out of his mouth. The mixture of potent semen, blood, vomit, feces and urine odors wafted in the still air around him and he coughed, forcing another handful of snow into his mouth in an attempt to stop the puke he knew would otherwise come.

After a few deep breaths, once he was sure his stomach calmed down somewhat, he dared to look down.

The setting sun caused the sky to appear a bluish-orange hue as it disappeared behind the mountains, and Stan had to squint in order to see the bottom of the pit properly. He recognized a human form who was wearing a dirty set of clothes, but other than that he could not tell whether it was his best friend or not.

Kenny caught up with him then. He, too, was breathing heavily and was holding his knees in an attempt to soothe his aching muscles. "Stan… the fuck…" he breathed.

Stan gulped. "Do you think it's Kyle?" he asked his blond friend, pointing downwards.

Kenny looked down at him, confusion written all over his red face, and then he turned his head to look to where Stan's index finger was directing his gaze. "I… don't know," he confessed as he narrowed his blue eyes in a failed attempt to recognize the human figure. "Kyle?" he called, a bit louder. No response.

Stan looked around and spotted a rope ladder. "I'm going down," he announced and threw it into the pit.

He climbed down quickly, and once he was sure he was close enough to the ground he let the ladder go and jumped down, slipped on something wet and fell on his bottom, kicking the human figure by mistake in the process.

"Are you alright?" Kenny called from above, and Stan lifted his left hand and waved to signal that he was fine. The figure moaned weakly.

"Kyle?" Stan called tentatively, still not fully recognizing it. He straightened up, cleaned his behind and blanched when he realized he landed in a pile of excrement and who knows what else. He felt the bile rising up his throat again and shook his head furiously, refusing to give in to his body and his emotions. "Kyle?" he tried again. No response.

He took one step forward and crouched down, staring intently at the figure. He touched the short red hairs gently and frowned deeply when he realized they felt familiar. He touched the cheek, stroking it slowly, and then lifted the head so he'd be able to look at the face. With a sharp intake of breath he stood up, pale like a ghost, his heart thumping wildly ion his chest. He was dirty and unconscious, but it was most definitely his best friend lying there in the pit next to him.

"Stan?" Kenny called from above.

Stan gulped. "It's Kyle," he croaked, vaguely realizing that Kenny probably did not hear him properly, but deciding against speaking louder. As he searched his mind for answers he noticed a plastic bottle on the ground. Frowning, he lifted it up and squinted. The remaining light proved to be enough for him to be able to read, and he let go of the bottle as soon as he realized what it was. He looked around, suddenly fearful, and noticed a couple of more enemas on the ground. "Jesus Christ…" he breathed, feeling dizzy. He fell on the ground, this time not caring what he landed in, and stared at his motionless best friend for a few minutes while Kenny McCormick demanded for answers from above.

Stan took a deep breath, calming down, and stood up again, determined to get his friend out of there. He lifted his lover's motionless form and adjusted it on his right shoulder. He staggered, but managed to grab the ladder and with great difficulty to climb up a few levels. Once he neared the earth above, Kenny reached out and grabbed the limp form from Stan's shoulder, lifting it to safety.

Stan climbed out seconds later and crouched on the ground, breathing heavily, disoriented.

"Stan…" Kenny called gently from beside him. Stan turned his head to the side and he could swear that his heart stopped of a minute at what he saw.

Kyle Broflovski, his best friend and one and only, was lying on the snow next to him. He was wearing what seemed to have been a striped pajama, which was now dirty and torn beyond recognition. His red curls, his beautiful, silk-like, red curls had been cut and left a nearly bald scalp in their disappearance. His once flawless, smooth face was now horribly pale and filled with blue marks, dry blood framing his swollen lips. His arms appeared to be tied behind his back, and as Stan kept on staring, he realized that his legs were tied, as well. With shaking hands he unknotted the tight ropes, paling with each pull. Kenny undid the arms.

"I think his arm is broken," Kenny commented, staring down at it intently.

"So is his ankle," Stan said, noting its odd angle.

They turned him slowly so the Jewish male was lying on his back, and Stan gasped as he noticed a small detail he missed beforehand. A yellow Star of David, identical to the one their History teacher showed them a picture of, was attached to his love's chest.

_"You see this?"_ Stan's eyes widened as images from his dream flashed through his mind. _"This is where your friend is." _

But this time there was no smoke.

This time, Stan wasn't dreaming.

"I'm calling 911," Kenny said, but Stan could barely decipher his words as he turned his head to the side and finally gave in to the wills of his body, fear and worry spewing out of his mouth in the form of the miserable lunch he had on the bus to South Park.

His vision blurred and everything around him spun, and once nothing more came out of his mouth besides dry retching sounds he heard another weak moan coming from the direction of his unconscious friend. "Kyle!" he exclaimed weakly and crawled over to him, peering at his pale, dirty, face. "Kyle, can you hear me?"

Kyle's lips moved slowly as he whispered something inaudible. Stan strained his ears and frowned as he realized that Kenny's words overpowered the redhead's ones. "Kenny!" he called and pointed west. "Can you talk over there? I can't hear him!"

Kenny glared at him but went away, nonetheless, giving the medical crew the information regarding their whereabouts.

Kyle's lips were moving again and his green eyes opened slowly. Stan smiled weakly, but his smile fell once he noticed the blankness of the eyes which were full of life and happiness before. "Mein Fuehrer…" Kyle whispered, taking a sharp intake of shaky breath. "Mein Fuehrer…" he repeated, squinting against the small amount of light, which still illuminated the area.

"Kyle," Stan whispered, stroking his best friend's cheek slowly as he felt tears of frustration springing to his blue eyes. "Kyle, oh God, I'm so sorry," he managed to say as he sniffed and released a choked sob.

Kyle yelped as he tried moving his broken left arm and gritted his teeth against the pain. "Mein Fuehrer," he said again, a bit louder this time. "Not today, please. I don't feel well," he said, voice lowering with each word he managed to utter. "Bitte, mein Fuehrer…" he lifted his right arm slowly and laid it on the zipper of Stan's jeans.

Stan's eyes widened and he held the thin hand, closing his fingers around it protectively.

"I'll suck you," Kyle said, pulling the zipper down slowly and reaching for the organ, which was hidden behind white underwear. Stan tried to ignore the rush of heat that passed through him once his boyfriend's dirty fingers reached their destination, and he tightened his grip and removed the fingers from his organ, tears streaming down his face. "No, mein Fuehrer," Kyle whispered, trying to grab the organ once more, but Stan won't let him. "Not today," Kyle begged, his fingers flexing against Stan's. "I'll suck you, I'll suck you like you're Stan, so _please!_"

"My God, Kyle," Stan breathed, releasing another choked sob and arching his back so he'd be able to look straight down at his abused friend's face. "It's me," he said quietly, forcing a smile. "It's me, so please calm down…"

Kyle shook his head, his breathing becoming heavier. "No," he said, "not today!"

Stan lowered his head so his forehead was touching Kyle's, and he frowned deeply as he felt the heat emitting from it. He stroked Kyle's cheek gently, gulping as that action caused Kyle to shut his eyes tightly, as if he was preparing himself to be hit. "Please, Kyle," he whispered. "Come to your senses! It's me, Stan!" he kissed the dirty forehead lightly then, noting the bitter taste it had and shunning thoughts of why it tasted so.

"N-no," Kyle mumbled and turned his head to the side, his arm once again searching for Stan's zipper. "I'll suck you all night long…"

Kenny finished his phone call and was now looking down at them with sad eyes, clutching his cell-phone tightly. "They said they'll be here in a few minutes," he said quietly. "Maybe we should carry him to the parking lot?"

Stan shook his head, still staring down at his distressed friend. "No, I don't think he's in any shape to move," he replied in a low whisper. "Come on, Kyle," he said. "Open your eyes and realize that it's me!" he kissed him lightly again then, tasting the bitter taste of his forehead once more and shutting his eyes as the salty taste of his fresh trears joined the mixture.

Kyle's breathing slowed suddenly and he opened his eyes again. "…Stan?" he asked weakly, a spark of life flashing in his emerald eyes for a short moment.

"Yes, Kyle," Stan replied, smiling waveringly. "Yes."

"Oh God," Kyle breathed, his voice shaking as he took a deep breath. "I must be dreaming…"

"No," Stan told him, sniffling.

"Stan," Kyle said, removing his hand from his crotch area and lifting it so he'd be able to touch his cheek. "Is it really you?" he asked.

Stan nodded, and, suddenly weak, lowered his head and rested it on his best friend's chest, wrapping his arms gently around him and shutting his eyes tightly as he felt him shaking with silent sobs.

In the distance, the shrilling sound of sirens was heard.

* * *

_"Name?"_

_"Stanley Marsh."_

The soft beeping of the heart monitor from the bed at the far end of the room lulled him to sleep a number of times before, but not today. Stan sat on a plastic stool next to his best friend's bed, his pale, slender fingers in his own as he stroked them gently, looking down at the Jewish male lovingly, moisture filling his eyes from a time to time as he recalled the events of the past few days.

_"Age?"_

_"Eighteen."_

An IV tube was attached to his right arm, his left arm and right ankle plastered. His face was cleaned from the dry blood, but the color still refused to return to it, and so did the amount of weight that he lost while he was imprisoned and abused.

_"Alright.__ So what did you see when you found him?"_

_"He was… he was wearing this… striped pajama, you know, like the one old people wear? I think he was dressed like that so he'd look like the… Jewish prisoners from the concentration camps. He even had a yellow Star of David attached to his chest. And… oh God, the enemas. There were enemas!"_

"Hi Kyle," he whispered, smiling. "It's the third day since you've been found," he reported, knowing full well that his friend could not hear him, but talking anyway. What else could he do?

"I hope you're healing well," he said. "You know, Cartman," an unfathomable rage engulfed him whenever this name was brought up, by him or by anyone else, and he narrowed his eyes angrily. "They found him today morning, in Iowa. His trial will probably start in a few days. The entire town heard, you know?" He chuckled. "I hope they kill him. I hope they rape him again and again, and then choke him to death. Would you like that, Kyle? I know you would…." He felt tears choking him and tried to gulp them down, but it did not do any good as they fell anyway.

_"I see. And how do you know it's Eric Cartman's fault?"_

_"We made a bet. See, Cartman had a thing for him… so did I. He said he'd get to him first, but I won, so he got angry… and he hates Jews, he tried to exterminate them a few times in the past. He looks up to Hitler. He did it to get back at me, I know he did!"_

"I burned it, Kyle. That pajama. I burned it along with Cartman's fucking frog doll which he cherishes so much. I tore its head and threw it into the flames. Are you happy now, Kyle?" he asked, sniffling quietly as his voice became shakier. "When you'll open your eyes again, will you smile? You didn't smile yesterday when you woke up."

"Mr. Davis, the hospital psychiatric… he says you're in a major trauma, he doesn't know if you'll ever recover…" he kissed Kyle's fingers gently, breathing in the smell of soap and hospital sheets. "It's my fault that it happened to you. I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself. Ever. I should have never let Cartman find out about us, not to mention provoking him like I did that night…"

"…I should have never left…"

_"Do you have a solid proof for your assumptions?"_

_"His mom.__ I know the police contacted her. She said she sewed him that Star of David, didn't she? Search his house, I don't care, it's probably filled with proofs!"_

"Your parents should be arriving soon and replace me. You know, we still have that History project to work on… Kenny and I, we'll tell about how Cartman did what he did. You know, without the… details." Stan bowed his head in shame, tears wetting his flushed cheeks. "Kyle…" he breathed. "Please, wake up and say something, anything…."

_"What did Kyle Broflovski say when he woke up?"_

_"Mein Fuehrer…"_

"I can't stand your silence when you look at me with those dead eyes, I-! I… don't know what else to do…"

_"Do you know what this phrase means?"_

_"Yes."_

Kyle's eyes opened slowly then, but he did not turn his head to look at the raven-haired young man sitting next to him on the plastic stool. Instead, he kept his empty gaze fixated on the white ceiling above. He breathed in slowly and licked his dry lips.

"Good morning, Kyle," Stan greeted meekly, stroking his short red hair. "Do you want anything to drink?" Kyle shook his head from side to side slowly. "You sure?" No response.

_"Do you think Eric Cartman made him say it?"_

_"Positive."_

"Are you feeling better today?" No response. Stan sighed and hung his head, at a loss. He kissed Kyle's fingers lightly again, hoping it'll force some sort of response out of the redheaded Jew, but all Stan could feel was muscles tensing under his lips and then relaxing once more. "You know I'm sorry, right?" Still no response. Stan gulped heavily and breathed out slowly. "You know I love you…"

_"Did he say anything else?"_

_"He begged me not to rape him. He thought I was goddamned Cartman."_

Stan glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. He should be meeting up with Kenny soon, and Kyle's parents were supposed to show up any minute. He spared a glance at Kyle again and his eyes saddened when he saw that the Jew was still staring upwards, caught up in whatever daydreams and thoughts he had. "I should get going now," Stan said, giving his boyfriend's hand a light squeeze. He stood up and bent down, pressing his lips to Kyle's and closing his eyes as he absorbed the feeling. It was nothing like that day in the bathroom, or the nights they shared with each other. It felt empty, dead, like the emerald eyes which gazed up at the white ceiling.

A cough from behind him startled him and Stan left his boyfriend quickly and turned around, coming face to face with an awkward Gerald Broflovski. He blushed deeply, said a quick and quiet goodbye and left.

_"Anything else?"_

_"No. _

He walked slowly towards his house, ignoring the people, who whispered amongst themselves behind his back. The entire town was shocked and outraged by the news. As odd as it may seem (it sure did to him), Butters' parents were being put on trial, as well, for having dug that pit as a form of punishment for their son.

_"What is your relationship with Kyle Broflovski?"_

_"We're a couple, I told you I got to him before that goddamned Nazi did."_

Kyle's parents… he was forced to tell them about himself and Kyle when they demanded him for answers, and since the Broflovskis were told, so were his own mother and father. Then the entire town knew all about it, and for some reason, fitting for that stupid redneck town, that matter seemed to them more important than the case of horrible abuse that occurred on their grounds. That horrible, repulsive, abuse…

_"Do you know of anything else that might help the investigation?"_

_"I don't know if it's any help, but… heck, I'm sure it's not. The pit… it had this smell, this very peculiar smell…like a concentration camp..." _

Like Auschwitz.

* * *

"All right, quiet down!" Mrs. Brown, their History teacher, commanded as she entered the classroom with a pile of papers in her hands. "I know you're all upset about the latest events, but we must continue…"

Stan stopped listening to her and instead stared out of the window at the clouded sky, looking for interesting shapes, a tiny smile playing on his lips. He went to see Kyle that morning before school.

"…Stan and Kenny, you two are up first." Stan woke up from his daze when he heard his name being called and collected his papers in a hurry while his classmates chuckled at him behind him. He paid them no heed as he went to the front of the class, Kenny walking slowly behind him. Once they stood in front of the blackboard Kenny nudged him at the side. "Hey," he whispered as Mrs. Brown began ranting about this thing or another. "Did something good happen today? You seem happier…"

Stan smiled. "I went to see Kyle," he explained and Kenny nodded, not quite understanding. "He kissed me back today," he explained, his smile widening as one of the same kind found its way to Kenny's lips, as well. "And then," he continued, noticing that their teacher stopped talking and was now waiting for them to start their presentation.

"-then he smiled…"

_The End._

* * *

**Author's Note III: **That's it. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing, and please, review! This is the time for all the lurkers to show themselves!

Oh, by the way. I have LJ now! But you have to friend me first :3

I may not approve if I don't know you, though…


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